The Beginning
by bitemyt0ngue
Summary: Tamara Wayne, Bruce's younger sister, had never given up on her brother, even when everyone else thought him to be dead. She thought she'd finally moved on with her life - graduating from university, gaining work experience at Arkham Asylum and catching the eye of a certain doctor - when Bruce came back to Gotham. Follows the storyline of Batman Begins. Crane/OC. Complete.
1. The Only Surviving Member

**Author's note: **This is the start of the prologue of my Batman Begins fanfic. It's the first story I've posted on this account and I haven't written much in a while, so go easy on me! It follows the storyline of Batman Begins with the addition of my OC, Tamara Wayne. Rather than using the actual film to get the quotes and storyline, I've used mainly the original screenplay, which is surprisingly quite different to the finished film, but any similarities you read will be from that. Rated M to be safe.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but my OC.

**_Prologue_**

**_Part 1  
_**

**_The Only Surviving Member_**

"You're a product of everything that's wrong with this city. After what you've been through, you should be fucked up. You should be nothing. A nobody. A mess. Your parents were murdered when you were a baby. Your older brother, your everything – he disappeared almost seven years ago, when you were just thirteen. They say he's dead."

"I know all of that, Doctor Olson. I lived it. I am living it. I don't need reminding."

"Hey, I'm just saying. If you'd let me get to my point -"

"Is there one?"

"Yes, and I'm getting to it – If you'd let me get to my point, I was going to say, you're not a fuck-up. You're a successful young woman. You've spent your entire life under a spotlight and constant public scrutiny, and you haven't let that hold you back. And here you are, one week away from graduating from Gotham University and turning twenty-one. You've come so far, Tamara. As your professor, I'm proud to have been there to watch your journey. From that scared, nervous teenager I first met three years ago, to the confident woman who now stands before me."

* * *

_Tamara craned her neck as the monorail pulled into the platform. She'd been waiting for this day for two years. She hadn't seen her older brother since he'd left for Princeton when she was eleven. He hadn't come home once. She knew Wayne Manor held painful memories for him – after all, he'd been a lot older than her when their parents had been murdered – but she'd never been able to understand what would have been so difficult about one visit, maybe just at Christmas. But none of that mattered anymore. He was home. Bruce was home, that was what was important. The passengers started to spill out of the monorail._

_"Can you see him Alfred?" Tamara asked her ageing English butler excitedly. Alfred had been the Wayne family butler for as long as she could remember. In fact, he was all she really could remember. Her parents had died when she was an infant, leaving Alfred as her legal guardian. He was like a father to her and he always had been._

_A smile lit up Alfred's features. He pointed a finger straight ahead. _

_"There."_

_"BRUCE!"_

_Upon hearing Tamara's cry, Bruce looked across the platform, his eyes lighting upon the vision in pink that was hurtling towards him at full speed. He grinned, opening his arms out, catching her as she barrelled into him. He hugged her tightly._

_"I missed you so much," she murmured into his stomach._

_"I missed you too, Tammy."_

_She looked up at him, glaring. She'd always hated his pet name for her. He winked._

_Bruce had his father Thomas' dark hair and chiselled features whereas Tamara was swiftly taking after her mother Martha, with her blonde hair and delicate mouth. Both children however, had inherited their mother's sea-green eyes._

_Bruce offered a wave towards Alfred. _

_"You didn't have to pick me up."_

_"Well, sir, the red line…well, it's closed. Apparently Mr. Earle thought it wasn't making enough money," Alfred said carefully. "And of course, Tamara here just couldn't wait to see you. She's missed you, you know."_

_Bruce wasn't really listening. He stroked his sister's hair as he looked sadly at the decay to his father's station – it had been the Wayne family who had built this monorail. Now, the glass was cracked, the marble chipped, the homeless were bundled in shuttered shop fronts. He looked up through the sparing glass. That was one thing that hadn't changed – Wayne Tower still loomed overhead, it's gold lettering glittering in the summer sun._

_"How is Mr. Earle?"_

_"Oh…successful."_

* * *

_That was the part of the day she last saw Bruce that Tamara remembered most clearly, and most fondly. For even though she knew now that he had been far from happy, he had masked his pain well enough to convince her pre-teen self. On the way home from the station, for the first time ever Alfred had letter her sit in the Rolls without wearing a seatbelt. She lay across the back seats with her head in Bruce's lap. She'd been up half of the night before, excitement keeping her from sleep, and as Bruce had fallen into his age-old habit of stroking her silky hair, she'd begun to doze off, the soothing movement and the summer heat making her sleepy. Because of this, she could only remember snippets of the two adults' conversation._

_"Will you be heading back to Princeton tomorrow or could I persuade you to spend an extra night or two? I'm sure it would make Tamara very happy."_

_"I'm not heading back at all," Bruce had replied._

_"You don't like it there?"_

_Bruce smiled sardonically, turning his gaze away from his younger sister to the trees flashing past the car window._

_"I like it fine…they just don't feel the same way."_

* * *

_When they had reached the Manor, Alfred had told her to run along. She'd hesitated, not wanting to leave Bruce's side, but Bruce too, had insisted that she went up to her room. Instead, Tamara compromised by sitting in her favourite hiding place – the place she always went to when she was upset. It was a small table, just around the corner from the main staircase. It was the perfect height for her to sit under, if she pulled her knees up to her chest. She'd listened to Bruce and Alfred as they'd made their way up the stairs._

_"I've prepared the master bedroom." Alfred had sounded tense._

_"My old room will be fine."_

_"With all due respect, sir," Alfred began sternly. "Your father is dead. Wayne Manor is your house."_

_"No, Alfred, it isn't my house." Tamara had flinched upon hearing the irritation in her brother's voice. She wasn't used to it. Princeton had changed him. "It's a mausoleum. A reminder of everything I lost; and when I have my way, I'll pull the damn thing down brick by brick."_

_"This house, Master Wayne, has sheltered six generations of the Wayne family." Tamara pulled her knees even closer to her chest. She had never heard Alfred so angry. "It has stood patiently by while you've cavorted in and out of a dozen private schools and colleges. As have I and your sister." There was a pause. When Alfred next spoke, his tone was softer. "The Wayne family legacy is not so easily shrugged off."_

_"Nor borne, old friend. I'm sorry to have disappointed you."_

_"Master Wayne…I was at your father's side when you were born. And at your side when he was laid to rest."_

_"I know." Bruce's voice had caught slightly. Tears pricked Tamara's eyes. Whilst she was too young to fully understand the conversation, she could tell it was making Bruce sad._

_"Your father was a great man. But I have every confidence that you will exceed his greatness."_

_"Haven't given up on me, yet?"_

_"Never."_

_The two men had reached the top of the staircase. They made their way down the opposite end of the corridor to where Tamara was sat, where Bruce's old bedroom had been. He opened the door, before turning back to Alfred._

_"I may not get another chance to thank you for all you've done for me."_

_"Are you going away after the hearing?"_

_Bruce shrugged, and then turned to enter his old bedroom. At this, tears began to fall down Tamara's face. She may have been young, but she wasn't stupid. She could sense the finality in everything Bruce had said. She waited until Alfred made his way back down the stairs, before hurrying into Bruce's room. His bag was on the bed and he was staring at the mantel, where a framed photograph sat. Tamara racked her brains, trying to remember the picture. It was Bruce when he was younger, sat on their father's shoulders, his arms raised in triumph. She smiled slightly to herself through her tears. She liked that picture. She'd never known her father, but she liked to think of him as how he was in that photograph. Holding her and Bruce upright. _

_"Please don't leave."_

_Bruce turned around, shocked._

_"Tamara, what are you doing?"_

_Upon seeing the tears spilling down her face, he frowned, and hurried to stand in front of her. He fell down onto his knees and pulled her into another hug._

_"Oh, no, Tammy, don't cry…come on…"_

_A shuddering sob escaped her lips. "I mean it, Bruce. Don't leave me when I've only just got you back. You're all I have."_

_"You have Alfred."_

_"You're the only family I have left," she corrected herself._

_"I have to go to the hearing, Tammy. I have to see the man who killed Mom and Dad."_

_"I know. But you're gonna come home after that, right?"_

_"I promise."_

* * *

_Tamara never saw him again. As a child, she'd never fully understood where he'd gone or why. Why he hadn't kept his promise. When she was sixteen, Bruce's childhood friend, Rachel, explained everything to her. How he'd intended to kill Joe Chill, her parents' killer, after the hearing, but a female T.V. presenter, working for the mob, had got there before him. Rachel had sent him out of her car, ashamed and disgusted, and she hadn't seen him since. After a few months, he was declared dead. Tamara was the only surviving member of the Wayne family._

* * *

"I must say, Miss Wayne, that gown is very becoming on you."

Tamara chuckled. "Why thank you, Alfred. And the cap?"

"It compliments your eyes."

She sighed, picking up a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter.

"I must say, it does feel lovely to be able to legally drink at my graduation."

"Just think, if you'd been born a day later, you wouldn't be quite so lucky."

Tamara smiled, but her smile was sad and her eyes were elsewhere. She took a sip of her drink in an attempt to hold back tears. Alfred rested a wrinkled hand on her shoulder.

"He'd have been proud of you, Tamara."

"I know. I just wish he could've been here to see it."

Alfred nodded sadly. For once, he was at a loss for words.


	2. The Search For A Purpose

**Author's note: **Prologue part 2. This is all about the time Bruce spent in Bhutan so is really heavily based on the screenplay, but it's such an essential part of the story that I couldn't cut it out. It won't hurt you to skip this bit, but I think it's a really nice little back-story and also the events are a bit different from those in the film. The fight scenes were pretty hard to write, but I hope I've done them justice.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but my OC.

**_Prologue  
_**

**_Part 2  
_**

**_The Search For A Purpose  
_**

Bruce was jolted from his dreams. He had awoken in darkness. Filthy, sweating darkness. Of course. He was in jail, in Bhutan. How silly of him to have forgotten. He ran a grimy hand across his face. He was only twenty-seven, but he looked and felt so much older. The last seven years of his life had weathered him, both mentally and physically. The old Asian man he shared a cell with sat across the room, staring at him.

"A dream?"

"A nightmare."

"Worse than this?"

Their cell was little more than a tin box. The only light was seeping through holes in the roof. Bruce shrugged. The man was right.

Perhaps the worst part of the day for Bruce, was the food. He had grown up in luxury. While he'd grown accustomed to settling for what he could find in the seven years he'd spent away from Gotham, the gruel they served here left him begging for a proper, three-course meal. That day, in the courtyard, the prisoners were scattered in small groups. All eyes were on Bruce.

"They are going to fight you," his cell mate told him.

"I fought them yesterday."

"They will fight you every day. Until they kill you."

Bruce held out his plate, watching the gruel dribble onto it with distaste.

"Can't they kill me before breakfast?"

He turned from the table, only to find his path blocked by an enormous man, a fellow prisoner. Six aggressive-looking inmates were stood behind him, flanking him. The larger man smashed Bruce's plate away.

"You are in hell, little man…" he said in his broken English.

He punched Bruce hard in the stomach, and he fell to the ground.

"…and I am the Devil."

Bruce picked himself up, brushing himself off carefully.

"You're not the devil."

The man swung again, but this time Bruce caught his fist and kicked his knee out. As he went down, he booted him in the face.

"You're practice."

Six prisoners rushed at Bruce all at once, but Bruce was a skilful fighter, easily capable of flipping one prisoner into another, kicking as his arms were held back behind him. Sounds of gunfire echoed through the courtyard, and two guards stepped forward to break up the fight. They grabbed Bruce.

"Solitary!" one barked.

"Why?" Bruce asked, indignant.

"For protection."

"I don't need protection."

The guard jabbed a finger angrily at the unconscious prisoners.

"Protection for them!"

Bruce was tossed into yet another dark cell, and once again the door was closed behind him.

"I often wonder at the riches to be found in dark places."

He looked up at the sound of a voice. It was mellifluous, European. It was coming from the shadows of a deep corner of the cell, yet Bruce could not see its owner.

"I thought the point of solitary confinement was the solitary part."

By now he could just about make out the profile of a man, seated in the corner.

"These men have mistaken you for a criminal, Mr. Wayne."

How did this man know his name? He stepped forwards into the light. The man was powerfully-built, yet distinguished, wearing a well-cut suit and tie.

"Who are you?"

"My name is merely Ducard; but I speak for Ra's Al Ghul. Have you heard the name?"

Bruce shrugged. "I've heard the legends…master warrior, international mercenary, feared by all the underworld…some even swear he's immortal."

Ducard smiled. "Ra's Al Ghul uses theatricality and deception as powerful weapons." He approached Bruce, looking deep into his eyes. "You have not escaped his notice – a man like you is here by choice…or because he is truly lost."

Bruce's eyes flickered away from Ducard's penetrating gaze, feeling uncomfortable.

Ducard continued with his speech. "Ra's Al Ghul and his League of Shadows offer a path to those that are capable of upholding our code."

"Code? Aren't you criminals?"

"A criminal is simply a man that someone else thinks should be put in jail."

Bruce nodded, conceding the point.

"This world is run by tyrants and corrupt bureaucrats. Our code respects only the natural order of things – we're not bound by their hypocrisy. Are you?"

Ducard moved to the door and knocked. It was opened by a guard.

"There is a rare flower – a blue double-bloomed poppy – that grows on the Eastern slopes. Tomorrow you will be released. Pick one of the flowers. If you can carry it to the top of the mountain, you may find what you are looking for."

"And what am I looking for?"

Ducard looked at Bruce with a glint in his eyes.

"Purpose."

* * *

Bruce found himself in a field of blue poppies. They were everywhere, they were beautiful. Such beauty he had been neglected in the Bhutanese prison. He picked a poppy and studied its brilliant blue in the cold sunshine. He had no idea what month it was. It was always cold here in the mountains. He supposed, at a guess, it was late spring. A lump formed in his throat as he remembered his sister. It would be her twenty-first birthday in June, the birthday he'd always promised himself that he'd make it back to Gotham for. Now, even outside of the prison, he wasn't so sure if he'd be able to hold that promise.

He made his way to a tiny hamlet, buried deep in the Himalayas. He was exhausted, freezing, hungry. He'd been pushed to his peak physically before, but this was possibly the toughest thing he'd had to endure. The locals went inside as soon as they saw Bruce walk down the street. Doors were shut and locked.

"No one will help you," he heard a child's voice say.

He turned, to find a small child staring at him. The naivety in the child's eyes reminded him of Tamara. She pointed at the blue flower pinned to his chest, and as she did so, an old man appeared by her side.

"I need food," he murmured weakly.

"Then turn back," the old man replied.

He carried on up the mountain.

* * *

There was only one point on his journey where Bruce had really felt like giving up. He'd struggled through driving snow up an icy ridge. He cleared the ridge, and flopped face-down into the snow. He couldn't take it anymore. He couldn't do it. It hurt just to lift his scarf-wrapped face from the ground. Thank goodness he did though, because when he did, his eyes were greeted by the sight of a monastery perched on the jagged rock.

He climbed up the steps leading towards the vast doors of the monastery, too exhausted to feel intimidation or fear. He unwrapped one severely frostbitten fist to pound against the ice-covered door, the knocks echoing deep within. There was no answer. Nothing. He lowered his forehead to the door, and for the first time in years, he cried. His shoulders were wracked with sobs and his pounding against the door accelerated to a frenzy. A grinding noise came from within the monastery. He stopped and straightened up. Could it be…? Sure enough, the door swung open, but Bruce could see nothing but darkness. Regardless, he shuffled forward into a low-ceilinged wooden hall, lit by flickering lamps. His hands trembled as he pulled away the brittle scarves from around his face. The door thudded shut behind him, causing him to jump. At the far end, on a raised platform sat a dark robed figure – this must be Ra's Al Ghul. Bruce moved unsteadily towards him.

"Ra's Al Ghul?" his voice was hoarse.

Before he could so much as blink, armed warriors of various races emerged from the shadows. Their bows were taut and their swords were drawn – they were ninjas. Bruce froze.

"Wait." It was Ducard's voice.

The warriors did as they were told. Bruce looked to the source of the command and was relieved to see Ducard leaning against a nearby pillar. Bruce reached into his many layers of clothing, pulling out the double-bloomed blue poppy. He held it out, his hand shaking.

Ra's Al Ghul began to speak in a language that Bruce was unfamiliar with, although from what he could make out, he suspected it was Urdu. Ducard began to translate.

"Fear has been your guide; but now you must advance or fear will keep you on your knees. We will help you conquer your fear. In exchange you will renounce the cities of man. You will live in solitude. You will be a member of the League of Shadows; and you will be without fear."

Ducard took the flower, considering its delicate blue petals in the same way someone might consider a new-born baby.

"Are you ready to begin?"

He threaded the flower through the buttonhole of his lapel. Bruce looked at him, incredulous – he was shaking with hunger and fatigue.

"Ready? I…I can barely -"

Ducard kicked him, sending him crashing to the floor.

"Death does not wait for you to be ready."

Bruce attempted to crawl away, gasping for air, but Ducard merely kicked him in the ribs.

"Death is not considerate, or fair; and make no mistake – today, death is your opponent."

He turned, this time whipping his leg into a roundhouse kick that was aimed straight at Bruce's neck, but Bruce saw it coming. He blocked the kick with a lateral movement of his forearm, staring at Ducard with blazing eyes. The European man smiled. Bruce rose from the ground, assuming a martial arts stance. As Ducard struck, Bruce blocked and parried. It was driving his body through excruciating pain, but his moves were fluid and skilled.

"Tiger Crane…Ju Jitsu…" Ducard smiled. "Skilled – but this is not a dance."

He grappled Bruce. This time the fighting was brutal, biting, energised, messy.

"Facing death, you learn the truth."

His head smashed into Bruce's cheek, causing him to falter.

"You are weak."

A knee to his groin.

"You are alone."

A fist to his chin, sending him down hard.

"And you are afraid."

Ducard crouched at Bruce's side, looking into his glazed eyes curiously.

"But not of me."

He pulled the flower from his lapel and leaned in close to place it on Bruce's chest, his lips at Bruce's ear.

"Tell us, Wayne…what do you fear?"

* * *

_Bruce still remembered the day his parents died. It had been the very first time he had ridden in the elevated monorail his family had helped to build. He'd watched the glory of Gotham glide past as his parents sat beside him, dressed for the evening's opera, his mother idly stroking her new pearls – a gift from his father. Tamara, who had only just turned one, was at home with Alfred._

_"Did you build this train, Dad?"_

_"Your great-grandfather built the first trains in Gotham. The city's been good to our family – it was time to give something back." He drew a circle in the condensation in the window. "A new public transportation system for the whole city." He drew spokes through the circle, creating a wheel. He tapped his diagram at the central hub of the wheel, then pointed through the glass to a tall 1930s skyscraper. "And at the centre…Wayne Tower."_

_It was also Bruce's first time at the opera. That night, it had been Boito's Mefistofle. On stage, witch-like creatures had cavorted and dark birds on wires had descended, flapping their devilish wings. They were bats. Bruce had a new-found phobia of bats ever since an incident the previous week, in which he had fallen down an old well shaft whilst playing in the grounds with Rachel. Whilst he'd been down there, a swarm of bats had left their cave to attack him. _

_The opera was starting to panic him, his breathing had become faster. He grabbed his father's arm._

_"Can we go?" he whispered desperately._

_Thomas stared at his son, confused. Martha looked over, all the while Bruce continued to stare pleadingly at his father. Thomas nodded and so they made their way along the row and out of the theatre, exiting through the back door which lead out into a side alley. Martha crouched down before Bruce, trying to meet his eyes. He stared down, ashamed._

_"Bruce, what's wrong?"_

_"He's fine," Thomas said. "I just needed some air. Bit of opera goes a long way, right, Bruce?"_

_Bruce looked up at his father, who winked. Bruce smiled gratefully. At times like that, he really did think he had the best father in the world._

_"Come on."_

_Thomas ushered the family down the dark alley and they headed for the welcoming glow of the main boulevard. A figure emerged from the shadows in front of them. A man with a gun._

_"Wallet! Jewellery! Fast!" he spat, shifting uneasily._

_"That's fine, just take it easy," Thomas responded calmly. He handed Bruce his coat, which had been slung over his arm, and then reached for his wallet. The man jerked the gun at Thomas, his eyes darting. Bruce vividly remembered seeing the gun trembling in the man's hand. He was afraid._

_"Here you go."_

_The man grabbed at the wallet but fumbled it and it fell to the ground. He glanced down at the wallet and then back to Thomas, still clearly scared._

_"It's fine, it's fine," Thomas reassured._

_The man crouched for the wallet, his eyes not once leaving Thomas' face._

_"Just take it and go."_

_The man felt for the wallet, his eyes momentarily darting to Martha. He noticed her pearls._

_"I said jewellery!"_

_She began to pull off her rings as the man jerked his gun at her neck. Thomas protectively stepped in front of her._

_"Hey, just -"_

_Boom. Bruce flinched. Thomas looked down at his bleeding chest, and then back to the man. Bruce had never seen him look so sad. As he crumpled to the ground, Martha screamed. The man went to reach for her pearls, but she screamed desperately for her dying husband._

_"THOMAS! THOMAS!"_

_"Gimme the damn -"_

_Martha flailed, trying to grab Thomas. The man shot her. He then yanked at her necklace, breaking it. Pearls spilled over the asphalt. He stood and turned to Bruce, who simply stared at him, uncomprehending. The man could no longer bear the gaze of the boy, and ran, leaving Bruce alone with the bodies of his parents._

* * *

_Bruce did not like to recall the day of his parents' funeral. It had been snowing that day, and the snow had fallen into the two open graves. Alfred had stood with Bruce, holding baby Tamara in his arms. She, of course, was far too young to understand a thing that was happening._

_A man, Mr Earle, had approached the three of them, and crouched down before Bruce._

_"You and your sister are in excellent hands Bruce; and we're minding the empire. When you're all grown up, it'll be waiting."_

_Mr Earle had been one of Thomas' colleagues at Wayne Enterprises. His words to a young boy who had just lost his parents – who had blamed himself for their death - had been meaningless._

* * *

"And do you still feel responsible?" Ducard asked.

He lead Bruce along a screened passage that was overlooking the extraordinary Himalayan mountains.

"My anger outweighs my guilt."

Ducard opened a door, leading Bruce onto a mezzanine level that was stacked with boxes and bottles. Ninjas were hard at work, pouring powders into packets, mixing compounds. Ducard took a pinch of a powder and threw it to the floor. BANG. Bruce flinched. Ducard flashed him a good-natured smile.

"Advanced techniques of Ninjitsu employ explosive powders."

"As weapons?"

"Or distractions. As I've said before, theatricality and deception are powerful agents."

He handed Bruce a pinch of the powder.

"To be a great warrior is not enough. Flesh and blood, however skilled, can be destroyed. You must be more than just a man in the minds of your opponents."

* * *

The next few months were spent with Bruce undergoing extensive training. One day, he was circling Ducard, their swords poised to strike, stood on the thin ice of a frozen lake beside the monastery. They were lonely dark figures in the white and blue landscape. Ducard struck out, but Bruce deflected the blow using a silver gauntlet with three scallops that was strapped around his wrist. Ducard skidded to the left, his breath steaming, feinting with his sword. Bruce stepped sideways on the ice, his foot landing on a patch even thinner than the rest of it.

"Mind your surroundings. Always."

This time it was Bruce who struck out, but Ducard blocked him with his own bronze gauntlet. Bruce slipped right and flew in with a short thrust. Ducard's arm flipped down in a backhand move, catching Bruce's sword with one of his scallops.

"Your parents' death was not your fault," he said, as he rotated his arm, wrenching Bruce's sword from his grasp, leaving it to skid across the ice. "It was your father's."

Bruce, enraged, dived at Ducard, swinging at him with his scallops, furious, reckless. Ducard parried with his sword and they locked, their noses mere inches apart, Bruce's breathing heavy and angry.

"Anger does not change the fact that your father failed to act."

"The man had a gun!"

"Would that stop you?"

"I've had training -"

"The training is nothing. The will to take control is everything. Your father trusted his city, its logic…he thought he understood the attacker and could simply give him what he wanted."

As Bruce considered this, his breathing slowed and became calmer. The two men separated.

Ducard continued gently, "Your father did not understand the forces of decay – cities like Gotham are in their death throes – chaotic, grotesque. Beyond saving."

"Beyond saving? You believe that?"

Ducard regarded the harshly beautiful landscape surrounding them. "Can Gotham be saved, or is she an ailing ancestor whose time has run?"

He struck down at Bruce with his sword. Bruce blocked the strike with his crossed forearms, allowing himself to slide between Ducard's legs across the ice to where his sword lay. Grasping his sword he spun, sweeping at Ducard's feet. Ducard leapt away, but Bruce caught his foot, bringing him down onto the ice. Bruce thrusted his sword at Ducard's throat, stopping just inches from Ducard's bare neck. He smiled in triumph.

"Yield."

Ducard smiled, shaking his head. "You haven't beaten me. You've sacrificed sure footing for a killing stroke."

He tapped the ice beneath Bruce's feet with his sword, and it gave way, plunging Bruce through the surface.


	3. The Beginning

**Author's note: **This was the hardest part of this part of the film for me to write. The screenplay differed quite a bit from the film so I had to take a while to make sure I understood it properly, and because it contained so much action it was quite tricky to write. Hope it's ok, anyway.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but my OC.

_**Prologue**_

_**Part 3  
**_

_**The Beginning  
**_

That was the coldest Bruce had ever been. That evening, as they sat on the shore of the lake around a small fire, he rubbed his arms, shivering violently against the hypothermia.

"Don't rub your arms, rub your chest. Your arms will take care of themselves."

Bruce did as he was told, too cold to speak, let alone think for himself.

"You have strength born from years of grief and anger. The strength of a man denied revenge. Why, Wayne?"

* * *

_Bruce walked down the drive to where his oldest friend, Rachel, was stood. It was his first time seeing her for two years. _

_"You look well. 'Assistant District Attorney', right?"_

_She smiled and nodded. "You still trying to get kicked out of the entire Ivy League?"_

_Bruce shook his head, laughing slightly. "Turns out you don't actually need a degree to do the international playboy thing."_

_She smiled, looking down at her shoes, and then back to Bruce. He could tell there was something on her mind._

_"Bruce, I don't suppose there's any way I can convince you not to come -"_

_"Someone at this proceeding should stand for my parents," he replied coldly._

_"Bruce, we all loved your parents. What Chill did is unforgiveable -"_

_"Then why is your boss letting him go?"_

_"Because in prison he shared a cell with Carmine Falcone. He learned things and he'll testify in exchange for early parole."_

* * *

_During the car journey to the courthouse, Bruce did not speak a word. Finally, as Rachel parked her car, he turned to look at her, cutting through the strained silence between them._

_"Rachel, this man killed my parents. I cannot let that pass."_

_She opened her mouth to say something, then changed her mind, shrugging instead._

_"Rachel, I _need _you to understand."_

_She considered this for a moment before nodding gently. Bruce returned the gesture, and then together they got out of the car._

* * *

_The 'proceeding' was small and bureaucratic, with a five person panel. Bruce was sat amongst the observers, not once allowing his eyes to move from the back of Chill's head. It was Rachel's boss, Finch, who was addressing the panel._

_"Given the exemplary prison record of Mr. Chill, the twelve years already served and his extraordinary level of cooperation with one of this office's most important investigations, we strongly endorse Mr. Chill's petition for early release."_

_The chairman nodded, consulting his paperwork. "I gather there is a member of the Wayne family here today."_

_At this, Chill turned in his seat. _

_"Does he have anything to say?"_

_Chill noticed Bruce's cold eyes and couldn't help but look away. Bruce did not respond to the chairman. Instead, he stood up and left the room. Every eye was on him as he did so._

_He was waiting. The gun was up the sleeve of his overcoat. He was ready. The side exit opened and two cops came out. A shout went up to the pressmen who were around the front of the courthouse. _

_"They're taking him out the side!"_

_Reporters swarmed around the building like flies as Chill emerged._

_"Chill, any words for the Wayne family?"_

_Chill kept his head down and carried on walking. Bruce straightened and took a deep breath – this was it. He began to walk towards Chill…and a reporter spotted him._

_"It's Bruce Wayne!"_

_The reporters began to clear a path, clearly eager for a confrontation. A blonde, female reporter piped up, "Joe! Hey Joe!"_

_She caught his eye. Bruce dropped his hand to his side as he moved, he was breathing hard, thinking, deciding._

_"Falcone says hi!"_

_The blonde reporter thrusted a gun at Chill's chest and fired. He fell to the floor. Bruce stopped in his tracks as reporters dived for cover. The cops were already on the blonde reporter, and meanwhile Bruce was stood just fifteen feet away with a loaded gun up his sleeve. Suddenly, Rachel was at his side, pulling him away from all of the chaos._

_"Come on, Bruce. Come on, we don't need to see this."_

_"I do."_

* * *

_His final conversation with Rachel had been painful. She'd driven him away from the courthouse, into the centre of the city._

_"Are you okay?"_

_"All these years I wanted to kill him. Now he's gone. Now I can't."_

_"You don't mean that."_

_"What if I do, Rachel?" he snapped bitterly. "Chill killed my parents. They deserved justice."_

_She was appalled. "You're not talking about justice, you're talking about revenge."_

_"Sometimes they're the same."_

_"They're never the same, Bruce. Justice is about harmony, revenge is about making yourself feel better. That's why we have an impartial system."_

_"Well, your system of justice is broken."_

_"Don't you tell me the system's broken, Bruce! I'm out here every day trying to fix it while you mope around using your grief as an excuse to do nothing. You care about justice?"_

_She yanked the steering wheel, screeching the car across two lanes on the freeway, onto an exit ramp that led them into surface streets. The streets were dark, crowded and threatening._

_"Look beyond your own pain, Bruce."_

_She gestured at the filthy streets where shadowy figures were conducting their business down dark alleys._

_"This city is rotting. Chill is not the cause, he's the effect. Corruption is killing Gotham and Chill being dead doesn't help that – it makes it worse because Falcone walks. He carries on flooding our city with crime and drugs, creating new Joe Chills. Falcone may not have killed your parents, Bruce, but he's destroying everything they stood for."_

_She finally stopped the car, in front of a run-down basement club._

_"They all know where to find Falcone," she gestured at the club . "But no one will touch him because he keeps the bad people rich and the good people scared." Her voice softened. "What chance does Gotham have when the good people do nothing?"_

_"I'm not one of your 'good people', Rachel. Chill took that from me."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_Bruce pulled up his sleeve and turned his hand over. Rachel simply stared at the gun in his hand, too shocked to speak._

_"I was going to kill him myself."_

_Rachel looked at Bruce for a moment. Then she slapped him. Bruce did nothing. She slapped him again. Still nothing. She began to cry._

_"You're no better than the rest."_

_She pointed at the gun resting in his hand._

_"What would Tamara say? Or your father? They would be ashamed of you."_

_After that, Bruce got out of the car, and that was the last he saw of her. He'd thrown the gun into the water of the harbour. He found his way onto the next ship out of Gotham._

* * *

"And when you left Gotham, what were you seeking?" Ducard asked.

They were stood outside the monastery, the day after Bruce had taken a fall through the ice. Ducard leapt up onto a stone wall, grabbing on by using pikes on his palms and on his feet.

"To lose myself. I couldn't do anything as Bruce Wayne. I felt useless."

Ducard gestured up to the top of the fifty foot wall.

"Perhaps you can beat my record."

Bruce jumped up onto the wall, landing higher than Ducard, feeling a surge of confidence.

"How long?"

"Two days. The test is not to see how quickly you can climb, but how _slowly_. The Ninja is thought invisible, but invisibility is largely a matter of patience."

He slowly reached for another handhold.

"On your journey, you sought knowledge of the criminal world?"

Bruce nodded. "I needed to understand the thoughts and feelings of those who stand in the shadows." He remembered his times spent in the port towns on the coast of Africa. "The first time you're forced to steal so as not to starve, you lose many assumptions about the simple nature of right and wrong." Those times he'd often shared his stolen food with starving children. He also recalled the short time he'd spent in London. There, his favourite tactic had been to remove wallets from the pockets of wealthy businessmen, then to hurry after them under the pretence that they'd dropped their wallet. This way, he'd often be rewarded for his kindness with a bank note from the wallet. "I needed to feel the fear before a crime and the thrill of success without becoming one of them." In Eastern Europe, Bruce had been taught by fellow criminals how to effortlessly break into safes. "I thought I would find something." In Shanghai, he'd made friends. "I thought I would learn what I'd needed to do with my skills and my anger; but the harder I looked the less I saw." It was also in Shanghai that he got arrested. "It got to a point where I wasn't even sure what I'd been looking for in the first place; and I was lost." He was arrested for being involved with a group of men who were trying to steal from Wayne Enterprises.

* * *

It had been two days. Bruce and Ducard clung to the wall just short of the roof, their eyes locked, both in agony – drenched in sweat and straining. Ducard blinked, breaking their eye contact, and reached for the roof to pull himself up. Bruce closed his eyes in relief, allowing Ducard to pull him up onto the roof. They lay there in the half-light of dawn, and then Ducard turned to Bruce, laying a proud hand on his shoulder.

"You are ready."

* * *

The poppy that Bruce had picked all those months ago was now shrivelled dry, resting on the altar of the throne room. Bruce, clad in a ninja black uniform, watched as Ducard – also in black – picked it up, taking a pestle and mortar. He dropped the flower into it and ground it to dust. The dust was poured into a small brazier, which Ducard lit. He motioned to Bruce, who approached the smoking altar.

"Drink in your fears. Face them."

Bruce breathed in the smoke and instantly staggered backwards, shaking his head. His mind was plagued by images, horrible ones that he wished to forget – Chill's trembling gun, his father staggering to the floor. Ducard slipped on his ninja mask, hinting at Bruce to do the same, but Bruce was struggling to think through the effects of the smoke.

"Why the masks?"

As if in reply, dozens of ninjas stepped forwards from the shadows – the entire hall had been filled with identical ninjas, and Ducard had melted into the crowd as one of them.

"To conquer fear, you must _become _fear. You must bask in the fear of other men, and men fear most what they cannot see."

Ducard struck at Bruce, but Bruce spun and parried – and just like that, Ducard was gone. The ninjas moved in unison, forming walls.

"It is not enough to be a man, you have to become an idea – a terrible thought – a wraith."

The ninja closest to Bruce turned and slashed with their sword – it was Ducard. Bruce leapt sideways, rolling through a wall of ninjas. He looked down at his arm, seeing the open cut. The torn uniform was a dead giveaway. Before him, a wall of ninjas parted, revealing a wooden box. Bruce stared at it, his mind still spinning from the smoke.

"Face your fear…" he heard Ducard say.

He cautiously approached the box and lifted the lid. Bats exploded from inside, filling the air. Bruce dived away, staring at the cloud of squawking bats above him, flinching whenever they came to close to him. Suddenly, Ducard leapt at Bruce, who rolled to the side, only just managing to block him. Once again, Ducard had blended in amongst the rest of the ninjas, and the bats were everywhere. Bruce stayed low, silently slashing the arm of the ninja nearest to him. The man did not move, he didn't even so much as flinch.

"Become one with the darkness." Ducard paced softly through the crowd. His eyes lighted upon the ninja with the slashed sleeve, and he triumphantly knocked the man to his knees, pressing his sword to his throat. "You cannot leave any sign," he told the man as he pulled off his mask. It wasn't Bruce.

"I haven't," said Bruce, pressing his own sword to Ducard's neck from behind him. Ducard looked around him to see that several of the surrounding ninjas had slashed sleeves. He smiled, and at this gesture, the ninjas turned in unison and sat down on the floor.

Ra's Al Ghul was seated on a small stage at the head of the room. Ducard led Bruce to sit down before him, and a ninja placed a tray between the two men – on it was a bottle and a burning candle. Ducard placed the candle in front of Bruce and handed him a small glass, whilst Ra's Al Ghul began to speak in Urdu. Ducard translated.

"We have purged your fear. You are ready to lead these men. You are ready to become a member of the League of Shadows. Drink."

Bruce tipped back the glass, the strong-tasting liquid hitting his throat and making him cough.

"By blowing out this candle you renounce your mortal life. You renounce forever the cities of man. You dedicate your life to solitude."

Bruce leant forward to blow out the candle, but he paused, looking around him at the rows of seated ninjas.

"Where will I be leading these men?"

"You will need them in Gotham."

"You want me to go back to Gotham?"

"You yourself are a victim of Gotham's decay. That is why you came here, and that is why you must go back. You will assume the mantle of your birth right. As Gotham's favoured son, you will be ideally placed."

"For what?"

"To help us destroy the city."

"What?" he cried.

"When Gotham falls, the other cities will follow in short order. Nature's balance will be restored and Man will finally return to solitude."

Bruce turned to Ducard.

"You can't believe in this."

Ducard looked back at Wayne, troubled.

"Ra's Al Ghul has rescued you from the darkest corner of your own heart, what he asks for in return is obedience; and the courage to do what is necessary."

Bruce stared at the flickering candle and the bottle. He had made up his mind. He flicked his sword out, simultaneously smashing the bottle and tipping the candle, causing flames to spread across the wooden floor.

Ducard reached out to extinguish the flames. "What are you doing?"

"What's necessary."

With that, Bruce struck Ducard in the head with the butt of his sword and doused his mask in the liquid fire before tossing it back into the mezzanine, where the explosive powders were stored. Ra's leapt from his throne, striking at Bruce with his own sword, but Bruce parried it easily. Explosions roared from the balcony above them and flames shot across the ceiling, explosions surrounding Ra's and Bruce as they fought. Bruce leapt clear from the falling debris, but Ra's was not as fortunate, the heavy charred wooden beams crushing him. The monastery was chaos. Flames were rising and ninja bodies were strewn across the room, while others fled as fresh explosions ripped across the hall. He had to get out, and fast. Bruce picked up the unconscious Ducard and hauled him out of the throne room, into a passage, where he smashed through an ornate screen which led them outside. The two men crashed down onto a steep slope of ice and rock as the monastery exploded above them. Bruce rolled over to grab a rock to support him, but as he looked across he saw Ducard's unconscious body sliding down the icy slope, his limp form rotating, spinning as his body gathered momentum, rushing towards the edge of the cliff. Bruce dived after him, sliding head-first down the ice, the cliff moving closer and closer as Bruce raced after Ducard. They were just mere feet from the cliff edge as Bruce grabbed Ducard and raised his free, gauntlet-clad arm to smash at the ice, digging in with the silver scallops, and stopping right at the very edge. Ducard hung limply over the tremendous drop and Bruce struggled with the dead weight, but he managed to pull Ducard up onto the ice. He had made it.

* * *

He carried Ducard down the road leading to the tiny hamlet he had encountered on his original journey to the monastery. He kicked the door down of the nearest hut, which happened to belong to the old man he'd seen on his way up the mountains. The old man stared at him for a few moments, before motioning for Bruce to put Ducard down onto some mats that lay on the floor. He wiped the blood from Ducard's temple and looked at Bruce again, who was making his way to the door.

"I will tell him you saved his life," he said, in heavily-accented English.

"Tell him…I have an ailing ancestor who needs me."

* * *

There was just one inn in the hamlet. It was smoky and crowded, full of Sherpas and climbers. All conversation ceased as Bruce entered, filthy and ragged, but the eyes that were upon him did not matter. He just needed to use a phone.

"Wayne residence."

Bruce found himself smiling at Alfred's familiar voice. It was the first time he'd heard it in years and he was relieved to find he had not forgotten it.

"Alfred," he croaked hoarsely.

"Master Wayne. It's been some time."

"Yes. Yes it has. I need a ride."

"And where are we, sir?"

Bruce looked around. "Bhutan, I think." A curious Sherpa nearby nodded at him.

"Am I to assume that you're without money and passport?"

"I'm travelling a bit light, yes."

"I believe there's an airstrip at Kathmandu long enough for a G5. Make your way there, I'll have the jet down in fifteen hours."

"Very good. Oh, and Alfred?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Bring some painkillers."

**Author's note: **I'll put the first chapter up later today or in the morning. It'll properly introduce Tamara and has the first appearance of Dr Crane. Hope you're enjoying it so far.


	4. Promises

**Author's note: **I've done a lot of research for this story, because I want all the information in it to be accurate. I'm a couple of years off university yet, so I hope that what I've written about it is correct! This chapter is where the story really starts. Hope you like it.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but my OC.

**_Chapter One_**

**_Part 1  
_**

**_Promises_**

Arkham Asylum was a foreboding building, to say the least. Nevertheless, Tamara Wayne was proud to say that she'd chosen to drive herself there, rather than accept the lift she'd been offered by Alfred. What it had really come down to, at the end of the day, was which car would have been safer in the Narrows – the family Rolls Royce or Tamara's vintage Camaro. The Narrows were the worst part of Gotham; an island in the middle of the Gotham River. The entire neighbourhood there was decaying and dilapidated and overrun with crime; even more so than the rest of Gotham. It really wasn't a safe place for someone of Tamara's social status to be out on her own, but all that mattered was that she had to be at Arkham Asylum that morning and nothing was going to stop her from getting there.

As soon as she stepped out of her car, the screams from the crazies locked up inside the asylum hit her ears and sent a shiver up her spine. The Elizabeth Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane was, technically, the most dangerous place in the whole of Gotham. Every insane criminal who'd ever been caught was locked up in there. There were murderers and rapists locked behind bars and wrapped up in straightjackets, and here Tamara was, about to ask to spend the next year of her life there. She wanted work experience though, and for psychology somewhere as prestigious as Arkham was the best experience you could get.

Tamara made her way up the steps that lead to the double doors that were the focus of the building. It was an old building, built in dark brick and lined with rows and rows of windows, many of them barred. The doors led into a spacious entrance hall, and even Tamara, who'd grown up in an extravagant mansion, was impressed by its Gothic architecture. She walked to the front desk and gave the receptionist her warmest smile.

"Ah, Miss Wayne, do you have an appointment?"

Tamara frowned for a second – she had never grown used to people knowing her name just from seeing her face, but unfortunately, fame was a price that came with her family name. She shook herself out of her thoughts and focused on the middle-aged receptionist once more.

"Yes, sorry. I have an appointment with Dr Crane at half past one."

The receptionist checked the watch on her wrist quickly before giving Tamara a disapproving look. "The doctor's running a bit late today, I'm sure you understand. If you'd like to take a seat, I'm sure he'll be with you shortly."

Tamara raised one neatly-plucked eyebrow. If there was one thing she couldn't stand, it was a lack of punctuality. "I arrived here dead on half one, it's now almost twenty five to two. I don't like to be kept waiting. I have a busy schedule, as I'm sure you'll understand."

"What's all this commotion?"

Tamara turned to face the source of the voice that had come from behind her, only to feel all the breath leave her lungs. She was not a believer in 'love at first sight', but what she was currently experiencing had to be something similar. The man stood before her had a face that was almost a work of art – something that would not look out of place in a museum, as though an artist had spent years sculpting his high cheekbones, colouring his large eyes that divine shade of palest blue, crafting his full lips and giving his dark brown hair that perfect tousle. All of these features nestled safely behind thin-framed glasses, his slight, lean frame dressed sensibly in a smart suit and tie.

"Oh," were the only words that fell from Tamara's lips. Upon seeing the amused look that had lit up his face, she quickly made an effort to compose herself. "I'm sorry. I'm here to see Dr Crane."

"Well then, you're in luck. I am Dr Crane." There was a God. "How may I help you, Miss Wayne?"

Even though there wasn't a person in Gotham who didn't know her name, this sign of recognition from the doctor caused a flutter in Tamara's stomach. "I'm here to discuss work experience."

"Ah, yes. I remember. Well, if you'd care to follow me to my office."

He turned on his heel and began to make his way out of the entrance hall, down a corridor lined with old-fashioned portraits.

"Good day, Miss Wayne. Sorry for keeping you waiting." Tamara heard the receptionist spit out bitterly as she followed Crane down the corridor. She resisted the urge to flip her middle finger up at the woman – after all, she had a reputation to keep up here. Crane led her into a room at the end of the corridor which she presumed was his office. It was obsessively neat and organised, and decorated in dark colours, much like the rest of the asylum – or at least what she'd seen of it. He sat down behind a polished mahogany desk and gestured for Tamara to sit down opposite him in a smooth dark green leather arm chair.

"So, Miss Wayne-"

"Please, Dr Crane, call me Tamara. Miss Wayne makes me feel old."

The corners of his lips lifted upwards in a slight smile. "Very well. If we're operating on a first name basis now, then I must insist you call me Jonathan. Now, would you care to tell me about your previous education? As I understand it, you've just recently graduated from Gotham University."

She nodded. "That's correct, I graduated two months ago. I did a bachelor degree in Psychology, but I'd like to gain a year's work experience before returning to GU to gain my Ph.D."

"Who was your professor?"

"Dr Olson."

"I know him," Crane nodded. "I used to be a professor at the University myself. He's a good teacher."

Dr Olson had offered a lot of support to Tamara during the three years she'd spent at GU and he'd been one of the main reasons she'd enjoyed her time there so much. He'd made the subject come to life for her. "He is," she smiled in agreement.

"Did you not do work experience during your undergraduate work?"

"I did some, and I did some in high school too, but I feel it's necessary to gain some proper hands-on experience in a challenging environment if I want to stand out in such a competitive field."

Jonathan seemed satisfied with her answer, leaning back in his chair slightly to survey her. "That's very sensible, Tamara. I suppose it won't shock you to know that we don't get many requests for work experience here, so it will be no problem for me to offer you a placement. You'll be able to shadow myself and some of the other doctors here, and hopefully by the end of your year here you'll be able to take on some patients by yourself."

Tamara couldn't help but grin – this was even better than she had hoped for. "Thank you, Jonathan."

"You're very welcome. Would you mind if I asked a question?"

"Of course not."

"Am I right in assuming you are taking these steps in order to become a clinical psychologist?"

"That's right."

"Then I must ask, why so determined for a career? Surely, with your family fortune being worth what it is, a career is not necessary."

Tamara bristled slightly. She couldn't stand being asked questions like that. "That's true, but that doesn't mean I'd enjoy sitting at home for the rest of my life, living off my family's income when I don't even play a part in the company. Psychology has always been an interest of mine, and besides, I enjoy work and education. They challenge me. They occupy my mind."

"And what horrors haunt the Princess of Gotham so much that she must constantly distract herself?" God, this man could read her like a book. It was a tad unnerving.

"Aside from a missing brother?"

"A _dead _brother," he corrected her. "And besides, he's been missing nearly eight years now. Surely it's time to move on?"

"Not when I don't believe that he is dead. I refuse to give up on my brother, Dr Crane."

He raised his eyebrows at her return to acknowledging him by his formal title. "That's…understandable, I suppose, _Miss Wayne_," he replied, choosing his words carefully. They sat in silence for a few seconds, simply regarding each other. "You've been through experiences that would affect even the most hardened of minds, but it seems to me, Miss Wayne, that you're almost completely unscathed."

"You can tell that, just from this one short conversation?"

He smiled slightly. Tamara had yet to see a full smile grace his almost feminine lips. "You forget that I've been studying psychology for over ten years now. There's a reason why I'm the head doctor here – I'm good at what I do."

Tamara accepted this. "I'm alright now, I suppose. It was university that helped me. I stopped bothering to make friends, as high school had taught me that people only wanted me for a share of my wealth and my fame. Once I stopped letting others in, I was able to spend more time with my thoughts. I was able to assess how I really felt about my parents' death and my brother's disappearance. Once I'd clarified my thoughts on those matters, I felt a sort of harmony, and I could focus on my education. My education gave me something to be passionate about. So unscathed? No, not at all; but resilient? Yes."

Jonathan did not respond to her or reply, he just stared at her, analysing her. His intense gaze combined with the paleness of his eyes was successful in both arousing and unnerving Tamara. Finally, he stood up, and Tamara took this as her cue to do the same. He held one delicate hand out to her across the desk and she shook it cautiously.

"Very well, Miss Wayne. I'll be in touch with you shortly to confirm details, but until then, assume that your work experience placement here will begin at the end of the summer. Welcome to Arkham, Tamara."

* * *

Tamara was just making her way back down the steps to her car when her phone began to vibrate in her pocket.

"Hello?"

"Miss Wayne," replied Alfred, formal as ever. "What are your plans for the rest of the day?"

Tamara sighed, standing by her car to unlock it. "Well, I was going to get some lunch, and then…well, I'm not really sure." The 'busy schedule' she'd spoken of to the receptionist had been completely made up, of course. Now that she'd finished university Tamara had very little to occupy her time with.

"How does a trip to Bhutan sound?"

Tamara frowned, bemused. "Bhutan? Isn't that in Asia?"

"There's someone there that I think you may want to see, Miss Wayne."

"In Bhutan? Alfred, I'm afraid I'm not following you…"

"Miss Wayne – Bruce is back."

* * *

The fifteen hour flight was possibly the longest fifteen hours of Tamara's life. Upon meeting Alfred at Gotham airport, she'd bombarded him with questions regarding the sudden return of her brother. Even once the story had been fully explained to her, it was still a bit too much for her to take in all at once, and Alfred really knew very little.

Tamara had practically ran off the jet as soon as it had landed. She may not have seen Bruce in years, but she would never forget that face. He'd been stood on the runway, just a few feet away from where the jet had landed. She was pleased to see a smile grace his gaunt face as she hurtled towards him. He held his arms out and she ran into them, her own chest hitting a wall of hard muscle.

"My God, Bruce," she murmured. "Have you been working out?"

He looked down at her, grinning. "This is the first time you've seen me in eight years, and that's all you have to say to me?"

She couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. "I knew it," she said, burying her face into his torso. He didn't smell exactly fresh, but right now there was nothing that would make her ever want to let go of him. "I knew that you'd come back."

His hands reached up to stroke her hair. "I'm sorry I didn't keep my promise."

She looked up at him, confused. "What promise? The one you made last time I saw you? When you promised to come home after the hearing?"

He shrugged. "Yes, that one - but I also promised myself that I'd make it home for your twenty-first birthday. I'm afraid I'm a bit late."

She smiled, her large green eyes filling with tears. "Only a month or so. I'll forgive you."

Bruce was surprised to find his own eyes welling up. He was unable to comprehend how much his sister had grown – the last time he'd seen her, she'd been just a young girl, and now she was a striking young woman. She still had the same long blonde hair and round eyes, but there was a depth and maturity to her features that had developed over the years that he'd been gone.

"Master Wayne, you've been gone a long time."

Bruce looked up to see Alfred walking towards them. He hadn't changed a bit.

"Yes, I have."

"You look very fashionable."

Bruce looked down at the thick woollen robes from the monastery he was still wearing.

"Apart from the mud," grimaced Tamara as she finally pulled away, examining a large muddy stain on her clean shirt.

Tamara looked up, smiling as Bruce stepped out of the jet's bathroom. The sun was just rising outside the windows as they made their way over Gotham and in the glorious dawn sunlight, she could truly see what a handsome man Bruce had grown to be now that he was clean-shaved and wearing fresh, tailored clothes that Tamara had packed before they had left the day before. Bruce sat down next to Tamara, looking out of the windows at his old home. Alfred, who had been asleep opposite them, opened one eye.

"Are you coming back to Gotham for long, sir?"

"As long as it takes," he replied. "I want to show the people that their city doesn't belong to the criminals and the corrupt."

"In the Depression, your father nearly bankrupted Wayne Enterprises," Alfred said. "He believed his example could inspire the wealthy of Gotham to save their city."

"Did it?"

"In a way."

"Yes, their murder shocked the wealthy and the powerful into action," added Tamara dryly, who'd heard this story before.

"People need dramatic examples to shake them out of apathy," said Bruce. "I can't do that as Bruce Wayne. As a man, I'm flesh and blood - I can be ignored, destroyed – but as a symbol…as a symbol, I can be incorruptible. I can be everlasting."

Alfred simply smiled to himself, and closed his eyes once more. Tamara raised an eyebrow. "And what symbol would that be?"

"Something elemental. Something terrifying."

"I assume that as you take on the underworld," piped up Alfred, opening his eyes again, "this symbol is a persona to protect those you care about from reprisals?"

"You're thinking of Rachel?"

"Actually, Mr Wayne, I was thinking of myself."

"Hey, let's not forget about the sister here!" complained Tamara. Some of the seriousness dropped from Bruce's face, and he wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders.

"Have you told anyone I'm coming back?" he asked, staring out of the window at the vast city beneath them as the jet began to bank.

"I couldn't figure out the legal ramifications of bringing you back from the dead."

"Dead?" Bruce repeated, incredulous.

"You've been gone seven years," Alfred shrugged. "Almost eight."

"You had me declared _dead_?"

"Actually, it was Mr. Earle. He's taking the company public."

"For what it's worth Bruce, I always knew you weren't dead," Tamara contributed.

Bruce ignored her, continuing to focus on Alfred.

"He wanted to liquidate your majority shareholding. Those shares are worth quite a bit of money."

"Well, it's a good thing I left everything to you two, then."

"Quite so, sir," Alfred nodded, settling back into his seat for a few more minutes' sleep before the jet landed. "And you can borrow the Rolls, if you like. Just bring it back with a full tank."

* * *

Tamara's hopes for a fabulous family reunion dinner were dashed when Bruce had immediately made his way to the library upon returning to Wayne Manor. She'd attempted to sit in with him and make conversation, but she'd found him sitting cross-legged on the floor, studying a thick report, and clearly not in the mood for light-hearted discussion. Her evening was not a complete disaster however – she did receive a phone call from Dr Crane.

"Tamara."

Her stomach erupted into a storm of butterflies upon hearing the deep drawl of his voice.

"Jonathan."

"Technically, you are not due to begin your work experience until the first week of September, but if you would like, you may sit in with me for the two weeks leading up to that. To get a taste of Arkham, if you'd like."

The thought of alone time with the doctor set Tamara's pulse racing and she couldn't help but wonder whether her attraction to him was mutual.

"That sounds excellent," she smiled.

"Very good," he replied, and she could practically hear his smirk in his voice. "Perhaps you'd care to meet me for dinner tomorrow? Get to know each other before we become colleagues?"

At this, her face broke out into a full-on grin. "Jonathan, are you asking me out on a date?" she teased.

"You can see it as that if you wish," he answered, pretty much answering her question with a 'yes'. "Shall we say seven o' clock at The Fox Gardens, then?"  
Tamara was surprised. The Fox Gardens was one of the most expensive restaurants in Gotham. Alfred used to take her there on her birthday, and she'd been told that her parents used to frequent it regularly. However, she'd never dated a man who'd taken her out somewhere quite so fine. If she was being honest, she was surprised Jonathan could afford it himself.

"Are you sure? We can go somewhere a bit less formal, if you'd prefer," she said cautiously, not wanting to offend him.

He chuckled softly. "No, it's fine. I've been told that it's your favourite place to dine in this city, and I've also heard that the food there is to die for."

"It is pretty good."

"Excellent. It's a date then." With that he hung up, leaving Tamara reeling. The way he'd said the word 'date' played over in her mind – he'd said it as though it was a new word to him. Then again, she supposed with a job like his, he must not have much time for dating. Somehow, this thought comforted her. She wasn't in the mood for sharing him.

* * *

That evening, Tamara ventured down to the kitchen to fetch herself a drink. Alfred was making himself some tea with the small television set in the corner on, as usual.

"Anything interesting on, Alfred?" she asked, holding a glass under the tap. She looked up at the screen and frowned in distaste when she saw what was on. "Actually, I doubt it – it's the business news." Despite being born into the Wayne family, not once had Tamara ever shown an interest in business. She supposed it would have been better for the family if she had – at least then she could've taken over the company and made sure it was still run under the family name, but things would change now that Bruce was back.

"There's a lot of interest in the new directions Wayne Enterprises has been taking," the interviewer was saying.

Tamara's interest perked up slightly when she saw that the man being interviewed was none other than Mr. Earle.

"There are a couple of big defence contracts in the bag," the interviewer continued. "Especially since Bruce Wayne was confirmed as dead all those years ago, and Tamara Wayne's apparent lack of interest in the family business."

Tamara scoffed at this, but Alfred shushed her with a gesture of his hand.

"Aren't there any hopes that Bruce might resurface sometime soon?"

Mr Earle smiled thinly. "Of course, that's always our hope, but we must be sensible. After all, he's been missing for quite some time now. Perhaps someday though, he might return to Gotham."

* * *

From within the library, Bruce could hear a faint high-pitched squeaking sound, disturbing him from his work. He stood up, and moved out into the main hall. He could see a small shadow, sputtering around the ceiling.

"It's those fucking bats again."

Bruce turned to see Tamara stood behind him, holding a tray with a pot of steaming tea on. He knew it shouldn't surprise him, but he'd never heard his little sister curse before. He had to keep reminding himself that she was an adult now, not a kid. She probably had a boyfriend, maybe even a job. She'd grown up without him there to watch over her.

"They nest somewhere in the grounds," she explained.

He nodded, walking towards her to take the tray from her. "Isn't that normally Alfred's job?"

She shrugged. "I just want to spend time with you. I keep expecting you to head out and leave me again."

He frowned at her choice of words whilst watching the dark shape continue to flutter above him. "I'm not going to leave you again, Tamara. I pr-"

"No, Bruce," she cut him off. "Don't make promises this time. It hurts too much when you can't keep them."

**Author's note: **I took the dialogue for the plane journey from the film as Alfred has so many great lines that aren't actually in the original screenplay. I hope I've managed to keep Crane in character. Let me know if I can improve anything at all.


	5. Like An Open Book

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but my OC.

_**Chapter 1**_

**_Part 2_**

**_Like An Open Book  
_**

"You thought you could escape from me that easily?" Tamara asked with a smirk.

Bruce turned to face her, a guilty look on his face. It was the day after his return, and Tamara had awoken to find Bruce wandering across the gardens. She'd slipped on a jacket and some shoes and followed him outside, and they were now standing outside the greenhouse.

"I thought I'd have a look around. You're welcome to join me," he offered.

She nodded, noticing that Bruce was wearing a long overcoat and had a coil of rope slung over one arm. She decided it was best not to question it.

The look of disappointment on Bruce's face as he looked at the greenhouse saddened Tamara. He used to play in there with Rachel, but now it was derelict. The glass was either cracked or missing, and paint was peeling from the wrought iron frame.

Bruce walked away from it, making his way instead to the old disused well shaft.

"Didn't you fall down that thing when you were a kid?" Tamara asked.

"I did," Bruce confirmed. "That's one memory that's never left me."

He yanked on the boards that now covered it, splintering them from the mouth of the well, and began to lower himself down the shaft, his overcoat billowing behind him. Tamara watched him as he reached the bottom and undid his rope.

"You're welcome to join me," he called, throwing the rope back up to her. Tamara shrugged. She'd never been much of a climber, but right now she'd take any opportunity to spend time with her brother.

* * *

As far as she could see, there wasn't much at the bottom of the well – just a small dark crevice between the rocks. Bruce crouched down and began to crawl through the crevice. At this, Tamara grimaced. She'd never been a fan of enclosed spaces. Nevertheless, she followed him through and she was shocked to find the crevice led into massive, spacious caverns.

"I had no idea there was anything like this under the manor," she gasped.

"Neither did I," Bruce admitted. "Impressive though, isn't it?"

They cautiously made their way down yet another jagged rock crevice which slowly widened into a low-ceilinged chamber. Tamara could hear the rush of water echoing around them as they advanced through the chamber. It began to turn downwards and it got steeper, forcing them onto their backs. Eventually, there was nothing to see but limitless black, and Tamara felt a jolt of fear run through her. Instinctively, she reached out and grabbed her older brother's hand. He squeezed it reassuringly.

"It's alright, Tammy," he murmured. "Can you hear that?"

She could. The sound of running water was now more of a roar. Bruce reached into his coat with his free hand and pulled out a chemical torch. Cracking it threw light into the vast cavern they were now stood in. Tamara let out the breath she'd been holding, marvelling at the underground river before them. She followed Bruce's gaze to the jagged ceiling above them, which begun to move. Bats. Thousands of them exploded from the ceiling, screeching, attracted to the light Bruce held in his hand. The two of them instinctively crouched down, and it was at this point that Tamara remembered Bruce's fear of bats. She didn't let go of his hand – instead, Bruce let go of hers. As the bats swarmed around them, Bruce rose to his feet, stood amongst a cyclone of bats. He was watching the fluttering blackness around him with a profound calm that Tamara envied. She didn't fear the creatures, but the sheer number of them was making her uncomfortable. It was then that she realised that Bruce had chosen his symbol.

* * *

Tamara's date with Jonathan came around all too soon. Of course, she was looking forward to it, but part of her was incredibly nervous. Not only did her future career depend on this man, but he just so happened to make her weak at the knees too. She looked at herself in her full-length bedroom mirror for what must have been the thousandth time in an hour. She had been hoping to look professional, yet attractive. She had all the clothes a twenty-one year old woman could ask for (and more), yet she'd still spent most of the afternoon deciding what to wear. In the end, she'd settled on a simple and modest knee-length purple dress with some plain tan heels and gold jewellery.

Bruce let out a low whistle as she made her way through the living room on her way to meet Alfred in the entrance hall. He was sat in an armchair, reading by the fireplace.

"You look lovely," he said. "What's the occasion?"

"I have a date," she smiled. It felt odd having anyone other than Alfred to tell of her various romantic escapades.

He raised an eyebrow. "With who?"

"My employer, actually."

At this, Bruce frowned. "You have a job? Aren't you just out of university?"

"Work experience," she corrected him. "At Arkham Asylum."

"Tamara, I'm not sure if I'm comfortable with you going to Arkham every day. It's in the Narrows."

"Bruce, I know," she said gently. "And I might still be your little sister, but I'm not a kid anymore. I've grown up. You don't have to make up for me growing up without a dad, Bruce. I have Alfred for that and it's not what I need from you. I just need someone to support my decisions. I need a brother."

He smiled, nodding, and stood up, crossing the distance between them in a few strides. He wrapped his strong arms around her waist and held her to him tightly.

"Those years in which I was away," he murmured into her shoulder. "Sometimes, I didn't know how much longer I could go on for. When I felt like I had nothing left to live for, I'd remember you, and I'd think how terrible I'd feel if I never got the chance to see what a beautiful woman you'd become."

Tamara looked into his eyes, smiling weakly. "Don't make me cry Bruce, I'll smudge my make-up," she laughed, her voice trembling.

He kissed her cheek. "I'm sorry. Have a good date. I don't want to make you late. And remember, be safe -"

"Bruce!" she cried, feeling her cheeks heat up. "Shut up!"

He laughed. "Sorry, Tammy. I'm sure you're not the type to sleep with a guy on the first date anyway," he teased with a playful wink, before sending her on her way.

* * *

Alfred pulled up outside The Fox Gardens at seven on the dot. Peering through the Rolls' blacked out windows, Tamara could see that Jonathan was already there, stood waiting for her by the main entrance.

"Thank you Alfred," she said, as she opened her door. He'd always used to insist on climbing out of the car and opening the door for her, in true chauffeur style, but Tamara felt bad enough making him drive her anywhere in the first place – not to mention how embarrassing she found it.

"Have a good night, Miss Wayne. What time will you be needing me to pick you up?"

"I'll call you when I'm done," she reassured him, shutting the car door. "Goodbye Alfred!"

She waited until she heard the Rolls Royce drive away before making her way to Jonathan. He'd spotted her minutes ago and began to walk towards her, meeting her halfway. He was dressed in another smart suit, his dark hair pushed back off his sculpted face. His full lips smiled slightly as they greeted one another, yet it wasn't a smile that quite reached his eyes.  
"Tamara," he said formally, with a slight incline of his head. "You look lovely."

"Thank you," she smiled. "You're looking rather fetching yourself."

This brought a small chuckle out of him. "I must admit, this isn't something I do often," he admitted, placing a cool hand on the small of her back as he walked her to the restaurant doors.

"Dating or eating out?" she questioned.

He looked down at her, an amused look on his face. "Both," he replied, before turning to the host.

"Good evening, sir, Miss Wayne," the man smiled. "Do you have a reservation?"

"A table for two under the name Crane."

"Ah, yes. If you'd like to follow me."

The Fox Gardens was a stylish, modern restaurant in the centre of Gotham, its wall painted a deep red and the entire room held up by curving pillars. Tamara noted a look of faint surprise on Jonathan's face and she supposed it was probably his first time dining here. In all honesty, only the real social elite of Gotham frequented the place. Tamara was a well-known face by now, and as they were shown to their table, many of the restaurants' patrons gave her a smile or nod of recognition. This was a gesture that had not gone unnoticed by Jonathan.

"It seems they know you here," he said, as he sat down in his plush beige seat and opened the menu before him.

She shrugged. "Sadly, the Wayne family name and anonymity aren't something that go hand in hand."

"Sadly?" he questioned.

"Sometimes it would be nice to have a break and not to have my every move noted. I'm classed as a 'celebrity'," she spoke the word with distaste, "yet I do nothing to attract fame and attention. I merely try and live my life as an ordinary citizen." She paused in her conversation to continue looking at her menu.  
"They'll know about you by tomorrow," she added.

"Who?"

She looked up at him, smiling slightly. "Everyone. Did you not notice them taking pictures as we came in here? We'll have made the society pages of The Gotham Times, without a doubt."

She could tell Jonathan looked slightly uncomfortable with this idea, but to her relief their waiter came to take their order before he could say any more on the subject. Tamara ordered her meal with a tone that implied that she'd done this many times before, and it was now second nature to her.

"I'll have the roasted quail breast for starters, and the fillet of smoked beef, please."

The waiter nodded, taking down her order. "Very good, Miss Wayne. And for dessert?"

She sighed, deciding to settle for her usual. "The pistachio soufflé, please, George."

He nodded once more. "And for you, sir?"

Jonathan cleared his throat uncomfortably. "I'll have, the, uh…"

Tamara watched, amused. It was entertaining to see his usually confident and slightly arrogant demeanour fall when he was placed in an unfamiliar situation. "Pan-fried sea scallops, the chargrilled lemon sole, and the strawberries for desert, please."

George, the waiter, smiled, taking their menus from them. "Excellent choice, sir. Any drinks, Miss Wayne?"

"We'll have a bottle of the Amarone, please – oh, and George? You can add that to my tab."

"What did you just order for us to drink?" asked Jonathan once George had left.

"Red wine," she replied. "You do like it, don't you?"

He nodded. "Yes, very much, but you didn't need to add it to your tab. I was intending on paying for tonight."

"Jonathan," she sighed. "That one bottle of wine costs more than both of our three-course meals put together."

He raised his eyebrows at this. "Very well," he said carefully. "Perhaps next time, I'll make us some dinner at my place."

She laughed at this. "I'm fine with that. The food here is lovely, but nothing compares to home cooking. You like sea food?"

"Excuse me?"

"Sea food. You ordered a lot of it."

"Oh," he nodded. "Yes. I don't have it often."

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes as George returned with their wine and poured them both a glass. Jonathan raised his in a toast.

"To the return of your brother."

Tamara froze, her arm raised halfway to meet Jonathan's glass, her eyebrows knitted together. "What did you say?" she finally murmured, lowering her glass. Jonathan's eyes twinkled with amusement as he took a sip of his wine.

"Your brother."

"How did you know?"

"Don't look so worried, Tamara," he reassured her. "You forget that I'm a psychologist. I can read people like an open book, and you, Miss Wayne, are particularly open."

She let out the breath she'd been holding, settling back in her chair. "What gave me away?"

"When I first met you, although you seemed confident, you were also somewhat subdued, and from our conversation, I gathered that was due to your brother's absence. Now, however, there's a slight glint to your eyes that wasn't there previously, and that glint is called happiness, Tamara. The only thing I can think of that would possibly make you that happy is your brother. So, where had he been?"

She shook her head, impressed. "You are outstanding, Dr Crane. Bhutan."

He raised an eyebrow. "Bhutan? In Asia?"

"The very same."

"And what, may I ask, was one of the richest young men in the entire world doing in a place such as that?"

Tamara wasn't sure quite what to tell him. She didn't want to be completely honest, but she knew he'd be able to tell if she was lying. Instead, she just decided to omit some minor details. "He was in prison, actually. He got in with the wrong crowd after he left Gotham, I guess you could say. After his release he spent some time in the mountains, and then finally he called Alfred."

Jonathan raised his eyebrow again at the unfamiliar name. "Our butler," Tamara explained.

He studied her for a moment, taking in her story, before nodding in acceptance. "And how is he?"

She smiled. "Remarkably well, all things considered. I suppose he'll have to leave the house soon. Let the world know that he's not dead."

They were interrupted once more by the arrival of George with their starters. The rest of the evening went remarkably well. In fact, Tamara was inclined to say that it was the best first date she'd been on. The conversation flowed easily – they discussed Arkham, Jonathan's own life (although he was relatively sheltered on the matter) and Tamara's childhood and time at university. By the time George came around with the bill, Tamara felt herself wishing that the evening didn't have to end. She felt an attraction to Jonathan that she'd never felt with anyone else quite so soon.

Jonathan's eyebrows shot up his forehead as he looked at the bill.

"Jonathan, if it's too much -"

"Don't be ridiculous," he said with a wave of his hand. "It's fine."

It was just over $100 per person, but Tamara could tell he was proud and felt ashamed enough that she was paying for the wine. "Fine," she agreed. "But at least let me tip them."

He tilted his head to one side, nodding slightly. She took this to be an agreement, and slipped $60 from her purse onto the table. At places like this, you had to tip high.

They left the restaurant side-by-side, but not touching. Tamara had to keep resisting the urge to reach out and entwine her hand with Jonathan's. She supposed that if he wanted to, he would have done it by now. After all, he was definitely the more dominant personality out of the two.

"How are you getting home?" she asked as they stood outside the restaurant, pulling out her phone to call Alfred. They were in the nicer part of Gotham so she didn't mind standing outside The Fox Gardens while she waited for her ride home.

"Taxi," he replied. "My car's having work done on it at the moment. You?" Tamara put her phone away. She didn't feel right getting a lift home from her butler in their expensive British car while her date was going home in a cab.

"Taxi," she nodded, instead fishing some change out of her purse. "Thank you for tonight, Jonathan."

He smiled, and this time she was glad to see that it did make its way to his eyes. "You're welcome. I had a nice time."

"Me too. When will I next see you?"

He shifted slightly. "I'm due in court tomorrow, testifying. You're more than welcome to sit in and watch."

"That would be fascinating," she replied truthfully.

He smiled again and she felt that familiar feeling of butterflies in her stomach. "I'll see you tomorrow outside the courthouse at about quarter past one. Is that okay?"

"Perfect." She was beginning to feel ridiculously like a teenager with a crush waiting for the guy to kiss her. Her heart soared as he rested a cool hand on her shoulder and moved towards her, and she closed her eyes momentarily, but to her slight disappointment his soft lips landed on her cheek rather than her mouth. Her eyes flashed open, and she prayed that he hadn't noticed, but who was she kidding? He was a psychologist, and he didn't miss a beat. He smirked at her slightly.

"Maybe next time," he murmured in her ear. "Goodnight, Tamara. Have a safe trip home."

**Author's note: **I actually based that restaurant on a real restaurant in London (I Googled 'expensive restaurants in London') so everything they order is a real menu choice, and then I just converted the prices into dollars. I'm pretty dedicated to keeping this story as accurate and realistic as possible!


	6. Welcome Home

**__Disclaimer:** I own nothing but my OC.

**_Chapter 2_ **

**_Part 1_  
**

**_Welcome Home  
_**

"_What the fuck are you doing, Crane?_"

The same question. Over and over. That little voice in his head had been plaguing him ever since he'd left Tamara, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shut it out.

"I know what I'm doing," he growled, rolling over in bed and trying desperately to get comfortable so he could finally fall asleep.

"_Well don't fucking fall for her, whatever you do. We don't want you going soft on us, do we, pal?_"

He groaned, punching his pillow. He just wanted sleep. "Leave me alone," he muttered.

"_Sure – for now. Better not go dreaming about her, though, Crane, because I'll know if you do…_"

* * *

"So how was it?"

Tamara rubbed her eyes sleepily, yawning as she shuffled into the dining room.

"How was what?" she asked, as she sat down at the table next to Bruce, pulling his copy of The Gotham Times away from him to read for herself.

"Your date," he teased.

She looked up from the paper to glare at him. "If you're going to be like this every time I go out with a guy, you can piss off back to Bhutan."

He laughed. "You never were a morning person, Tammy."

She gritted her teeth. "Don't call me that."

"Call you what? Tammy?"

She rolled her eyes, choosing to ignore him, and instead pouring herself a glass of orange juice from the jug in the centre of the table.

"It went very well, thank you."

Bruce nodded, satisfied. "So, Jonathan Crane, hm? He must be pretty well-off, if he was taking you to The Fox Gardens."

Tamara stared at him, confused as to how he knew Jonathan's name, but Bruce simply gestured to The Times and Tamara could only assume her date had made it to the society pages, as she'd predicted last night. "Oh. He's not. I don't think we're going to be going there again."

"He must like you a lot then, if he's taking you somewhere so out of his price range."

Tamara shrugged, turning a page of The Times lazily, not really reading it. "I don't think he quite realised how out of his price range it was."

"You didn't end up paying for it, did you?"

"I paid for the wine and the tip."

"So you paid for the majority of it."

"Oh, go fuck yourself Bruce."

He laughed, standing up and kissing the top of her head. "That will have to wait until later."

"Why, where are you going?" she asked, looking up at him.

"To pay a little visit to Wayne Enterprises."

* * *

Bruce wasn't entirely sure how to feel as the Rolls drove through the streets of Gotham. Sad, he supposed. Gotham wasn't how he remembered it. It was even more decayed than it had been when he was a child, and it had been pretty bad even then. The sadness began to give way to anger, but the car had pulled up in front of the Wayne Plaza before Bruce had time to act on his feelings. The Plaza was directly in front of Wayne Station, which was eerily deserted and completely derelict. Bruce got out of the car, staring at the sight before him.

"Is it closed?"

"They still run a token service out of respect for your father," Alfred replied, climbing out of the car himself.

"Respect?" Bruce echoed, his voice low. Perhaps he wasn't totally prepared for just how much Gotham had changed.

* * *

Bruce had brushed his demons aside and continued with his day, instructing Alfred to drive him to Wayne Tower, as planned. He'd only been to the Tower a few times when he was younger. Since his parents had died, he'd refused to step foot in the place. Luckily though, it hadn't changed much since he was a boy and he easily found his way to the outer office. A young, attractive assistant was sat at her desk – he supposed some would call her beautiful. It seemed that Wayne Enterprises hadn't changed quite as much as the rest of the city.

"Morning," he greeted her casually.

She got to her feet instantly.

"Sir, you can't go in there," she told him.

Bruce turned to her and smiled. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'm here to see Mr. Earle, you see."

She nodded slowly, and Bruce could tell that she recognised him, but was having difficulty placing a name to his face. "Name?" she asked.

"Bruce Wayne."

She gaped at him in shock. "Mr Wayne, I-"

"Do you think I'll be able to see Mr. Earle now?"

She nodded, her mouth still hanging open. Bruce smirked, her surprise amusing him. He was curious to see the reaction to his return from the dead from the rest of the board. He opened the door to the board room, and noticed that Mr. Earle, too, had changed very little. He looked up from his notes, annoyed.

"I'm sorry, can I…?" he trailed off as he took in the man standing in the doorway, completely dumbstruck. Every head in the board room turned to Bruce, who smiled at them, upping the charm.

"Sorry to barge in," he drawled. "But I was in the area…"

The room remained silent, until Earle finally managed to get to his feet and slowly made his way across the room to Bruce. He took Bruce's hand in his and shook it enthusiastically, clapping his other hand on Bruce's shoulder.

"Bruce, my boy!" he cried. "We all thought you were dead."

"Sorry to disappoint. What can I say? 'Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated.'"

A few nervous chuckles broke out across the room, but the majority of the board simply stared at Bruce, incredulous.

"I'm sure you realise I can't stop the big machine," Earle explained hurriedly. "Too many wheels turning. We're going public."

"I understand," he nodded. "And I'll be handsomely rewarded for my shares, I'm sure, but I'm not looking to interfere."

Mr. Earle took this in, nodding slowly. "Can I ask where you've been?"

"You can ask," Bruce answered mischievously.

Earle smiled at him. "Well, perhaps you'll tell us your plans. Are you back to finish college?"

"Actually, I thought I'd get to grips with what we actually do around here, from the ground up – one division at a time."

"Any idea where you'd like to start?"

"Applied sciences caught my eye."

"Mr. Fox's department. I'll make a call, you should be able to start today."

"It'll have to be tomorrow actually, I've a one o' clock tee-off, and it took me all morning to convince the club to honour my old membership." Bruce grinned. "Apparently they don't have to meet the same high standards as you when it comes to declaring someone dead."

Mr. Earle smiled bashfully. "You look like him," he said, just as Bruce had turned to leave. "Your dad. This is where you belong, Bruce. Welcome home."

* * *

Tamara parked her car around the back of the courthouse and took a deep, nervous breath. She didn't know why she was so scared. During her time in university she'd given presentations in front of hundreds of students, and she'd done work experience before too – so why was this so intimidating for her? Of course, deep down she knew why. She wanted to impress Jonathan. She shook her head, trying to clear it of all thoughts unrelated to the task at hand and picked up her bag, stepping out of the car and locking it. As usual, she was completely punctual, arriving just a minute before half past one, giving her enough time to walk to the front of the building where she'd agreed to meet Jonathan. Thankfully, he was there on time too. He smiled upon seeing her and made his way towards her, and to her surprise gave her a quick hug as way of greeting. In all fairness, it was very brief and their bodies had barely touched, but it was a start.

"Good afternoon," he said softly. "You're looking rather colourful for a court case. I'm sure the underbelly of Gotham's criminals won't know what to make of you."

Tamara looked down at her outfit. It was a beige tailored Gucci suit with a sleeveless coral shirt underneath. All in all, she thought she looked quite understated.

He laughed slightly at the confusion written across her features. "You look lovely," he assured her.

"Thank you," she smiled, feeling light-headed all of a sudden. She pulled herself together quickly, reminding herself that this was work now, not a date. "Why are we here today?"

"I have to testify for Victor Zsasz. I believe that he's insane and therefore not in the correct frame of mind for Blackgate. The man needs to be moved to Arkham."

"And what do you need me to do?"

"Observe."

He lead Tamara into the courthouse, a building that she herself had never been to. For some reason, she'd always associated it with negative thoughts. She supposed it was because it was the last place Bruce had been seen by the public before he'd disappeared. Not that it mattered anymore – he was home, after all.

Tamara sat at the back of the room, whereas Jonathan was sat at the front. She envied how calm he was, despite speaking in front of all these people. If this was her, she would have been a nervous wreck by now. As she surveyed the room she was in, she noticed a familiar figure a few rows in front of her. It looked remarkably like Rachel Dawes, Bruce's old friend. Tamara hadn't seen her for at least five years, apart from occasionally on the news due to her job as Assistant DA. Tamara supposed that it only made sense for Rachel to be here, and made a mental note to catch up with her afterwards and tell her about Bruce. If there was one person she thought Bruce would want to know he was alive, it was Rachel.

"In my opinion, Mr. Zsasz is as much a danger to himself as to others," Jonathan stated calmly, "and prison is probably not the best environment for his rehabilitation."

* * *

"Rachel!" called Tamara, hurrying after her as the court room emptied. Zsasz had been declared insane and was being moved to Arkham. Jonathan had been successful.

Rachel turned around, searching for the source of the voice that was calling her. She'd matured slightly in the years it had been since Tamara had seen her, but she was still very attractive. She was two years older than Bruce, so Tamara supposed that she would be around thirty by now.

"Tamara? Oh my God!" she cried, wrapping her arms around Tamara. "What on Earth are you doing here? Last I heard you were graduating from GU!"

"I did graduate, I'm doing work experience now."

"At the courthouse? I thought you were studying psychology, not law."

"I was. Dr Crane invited me today. Just to get me into the swing of things before I begin at Arkham in September." At the mention of Jonathan's name, Rachel's face dropped.

"You're working with Dr Crane?" she asked.

Tamara nodded. "Yes, but never mind that now Rachel, I have to tell you-"

"Are you ready to go, Tamara?"

She turned around to see Jonathan standing behind her. "Oh, Jonathan. Yes, I suppose I am."

His eyes moved to Rachel. "Ah, Miss Dawes."

"Dr Crane," she replied coldly.

"Do you two know each other?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"She's friends with my brother," Tamara informed him. "I've known her pretty much all my life."

"Was," corrected Rachel. "I _was _friends with your brother."

Tamara was about to open her mouth to tell Rachel about Bruce, but Rachel spoke up first.

"Dr Crane, can I have a word with you?"

He pursed his lips slightly. "Tamara, would you mind waiting for me outside?"

She narrowed her eyes at the two of them somewhat suspiciously before shrugging and making her way outside. She saw no point in getting in the way of whatever business they had to discuss.

"How can I help you, Miss Dawes?"

"You think a man who butchers people for the mob doesn't belong in jail?"

"I would hardly have testified to that otherwise, would I?"

"This is the third of Falcone's thugs you've had declared insane and moved into your asylum," Rachel hissed.

"The work offered by organised crime must have an attraction to the insane," he spat back.

"Or the corrupt."

Jonathan narrowed his eyes at her and turned to face her boss, who was standing across the entrance hall from them.

"Mr Finch!" he called. Finch turned to face him. "You should check with Miss Dawes here just what implications your office has authorised her to make – if any."

* * *

"Sorry about that."

Tamara turned to face Jonathan, who'd appeared behind her without her realising. She was sat on the steps leading up to the courthouse, looking at the midday Gotham traffic before her, but she hastily stood up to meet his height.

"It's fine," she smiled. "What did Rachel want?"

"Nothing to worry yourself over," he said with a tight-lipped smile, and Tamara took this as a hint that he did not wish to discuss the subject further.

"Thank you for this afternoon."

He laughed slightly. "Thank you? I'm sure it must have been incredibly boring for you."

She shook her head. "No, not at all. I found it really interesting. I have to say though, Zsasz seemed pretty sane to me." Crane raised an eyebrow. "I know I don't really know what I'm talking about, but I guess there's still a part of me that expects insane people to be screaming and running around in circles. He just seemed…calm. Tranquil." She shrugged, unsure of what she was trying to say.

"You'll soon learn, Tamara, that insanity is not something that can be revealed by a mere glance. During the time I spent with Zsasz I discovered a man who was seriously mentally unstable."

"Fascinating," murmured Tamara.

"What is?"

"The way you can find out so much about a person from one or two conversations. It's incredible. I envy you, I'd love to be able to do that."

"You've spent three years studying psychology. I think you're probably a lot better at reading people than you may realise." He paused. "What are you doing tomorrow night?"

"Nothing as far as I'm aware. Why?"

"How about that dinner at my house that I promised last night?"

Tamara grinned. "I'd love that."

Her response seemed to please him. "I'll send you the address later. Come over around eight?"

She nodded keenly. "I won't be late – I'm never late."

"Punctuality is a priority of yours." He didn't say this as a question, more as a statement. She supposed he probably knew more about her than she did and he'd only known her three days. "There is one other thing I promised you last night, you know."

"What's that?"

He rested both of his hands on her shoulders and leant down to move his face closer to hers, so close that she could feel his warm breath brushing against her lips.

"Why don't you guess?" he asked, his icy-blue eyes staring deep into her own. "We'll see how good you are at reading people."

Tamara licked her lips nervously.

He moved his mouth to her ear. "What do you think I want to do right now, Tamara?" he muttered, his husky voice sending chills up her spine.

"Kiss me?" she suggested, her voice quiet and shaky.

"Precisely," he replied, his voice humorous. Before Tamara even had a chance to register what was going on, he'd pressed his lips to hers. Her eyes widened for a moment before she relaxed into the kiss, shutting her eyes and wrapping her arms around his neck. His hands slipped down to her waist and he held her to him gently as he continued to kiss her, softly and delicately. All too soon it was over, and he pulled away, smiling.

"I'll see you tomorrow then," he nodded, before turning on his heel and walking in the opposite direction, leaving Tamara staring after him open-mouthed, her head still reeling from the kiss.

* * *

"_You kissed her? You fucking _kissed _her? God Crane, so much for not getting attached._"

Jonathan bit his tongue, exhaling deeply through his nose. He hated it when the voice piped up when he was in public as he had no way of talking back to it and shutting it up. He had no choice but to let it say whatever the hell it wanted to.

"_I hope this is all part of some grand scheme of yours. As much as your dick might have just enjoyed that, you're not here to get laid, Johnny. You're here to do your fucking job,_" the voice spat. It was Jonathan's voice, but it was harsher and slightly more high-pitched, and it used far cruder language. "_Hell, fuck her if you want to, I can't stop you – but it better be nothing more than that, Crane, we can't have you getting married to this girl now, can we? What use will you be to us then? Love makes men weak Crane, and you'd better not fucking forget that._"

**Author's note: **Leave a review and let me know if you're enjoying it. :)


	7. Always Right

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but my OC.

_**Chapter 2**_

_**Part 2  
**_

_**Always Right  
**_

"Tell me all about him, then."

"Jesus, Bruce!" cried Tamara, almost dropping the glass in her hand. She'd been making her way to her bedroom after coming home from the courthouse, and Bruce had silently followed her up the stairs. "Don't do that! You almost gave me a heart attack."

He chuckled lightly, walking into Tamara's room after her. It was the first time he'd been in there since he was about 18. Back then it had been decorated entirely in varying shades of pink, but now it was a lot more neutral, the walls painted a shade of cream and the carpet a plush sandy colour. He sat down next to her on the four-poster double bed that was pushed against one wall, noting that she still sat cross-legged with her bare feet tucked beneath her like she had done when she was a child. She looked at him expectantly, clearly waiting for him to speak.

"Are you going to tell me about him or not?"

"Who? Jonathan?"

"Yes. Don't make me research him myself. You know I will if you won't tell me."

She rolled her green eyes, taking a sip from her Diet Coke. "I thought we agreed earlier that you weren't going to be like this."

He held up his hands defensively. "I just want to know about the guy who's making my little sister so happy. Come on, Tammy. Talk to me."

"Only if you call me Tamara."

It was Bruce's turn to roll his eyes. "Fine. Talk to me please, _Tamara_."

She grinned at him. "That's better. Well, he's very handsome. Very, very intelligent. Almost scarily so."

"Well, he is head psychologist at Arkham and he used to be a Professor at GU, so that's understandable."

Tamara shot him a look. "It seems you've already done some research."

"No," he shook his head. "That's only what it said in The Times. I swear."

"He has a way of being able to tell everything about a person just from a couple of conversations. On our date last night, he guessed you were back without me even saying anything, just because he could see from my eyes that I was happier, and he'd figured out you were the only person who'd make me that happy."

"That's…unnerving."

Tamara shrugged. "I find it interesting. I'm seeing him again tomorrow night."

"Business or pleasure?"

"Pleasure. I'm going to his place for dinner."

Bruce wolf-whistled childishly and Tamara reached over to slap him playfully on the chest.

"Stop that. He's not that sort of guy. Now, do you want to stop embarrassing me and tell me about your day?"

"Not much to tell," Bruce admitted, lying back onto the bed. "I went down to Wayne Tower. They know that I'm alive now."

Tamara nodded. "Yes, it was on the news on the radio when I was driving back." They sat in silence for a few minutes, Bruce looking around her room, curious to see how she'd decorated it. They'd agreed as children to leave every other room in the house decorated the way their parents had left it, and the only room in which they had free reign was their own bedroom. Tamara's was very understated now. The walls were almost bare, apart from a few framed movie posters. The most interesting part of her room was the desk at the far end, where her laptop and several thick books on psychology sat. Pinned to the desk or sat around it in small photo frames were various photographs of her and friends, family and various tickets from concerts and cinema outings and the like. The most recent picture was one of Tamara in her graduation gown and cap, smiling as she stood in the sunshine in front of Gotham University. Bruce swallowed down a lump that had risen in his throat at seeing the picture – it was a harsh reminder of the promise that he'd broken. Tamara had been watching him silently, and it didn't take her long to spot that something was playing on his mind. She set her empty glass down on her bedside table and lay down beside him on her front.

"What's on your mind?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing," he murmured. "I just regret leaving you for so long."

She rested her hand on his shoulder. "There's no point regretting it, Bruce. It won't change things. All that matters is that you're back now."

"I suppose you're right," he replied, but he didn't seem completely convinced.

"I know I told you not to make any more promises to me, but can you just promise me this one little thing?"

"Anything," he said sincerely, turning his head to face her.

"I don't care what it is you're planning to do, I can't control you or stop you," she began. "But just promise me you'll be careful. I almost lost you once Bruce, and goddammit, I don't want to lose you for good."

* * *

"No more favours. Someone is sniffing around."

Falcone surveyed Crane, leaning back in his seat with a raised eyebrow. Falcone was an ageing man, but he was still sharper than any other criminal in Gotham. He knew what he wanted, and he got it.

"Hey, I scratch your back, you scratch mine, Doc. I'm bringing in the shipments."

"We are paying you for that," snapped Jonathan.

"Maybe money isn't as interesting to me as favours," Falcone replied dangerously.

"I am more than aware that you are not intimidated by me, Mr. Falcone," sighed Jonathan. "But you know who I'm working for, and when he gets here-"

"He's coming to Gotham?" Falcone faltered.

"Yes, he is," nodded Crane. "And when he gets here, he's not going to want to hear that you have endangered our operation just to get your thugs out of a little jail time."

Falcone took this in, frowning, but ultimately, he knew that Crane was right. "Who's bothering you?"

"There's a girl at the DA's office."

"We'll buy her off."

Jonathan shook his head. "Not this one."

Falcone thought about this for a minute. "Idealist, huh? Well, there's an answer to that too."

"I don't want to know."

"Yes, you do."

Jonathan rolled his eyes and stood up to leave.

"Oh, and Crane?"

He turned around, calmly surveying the criminal in front of him. The man was powerful but he did not threaten or scare Jonathan like he scared most of Gotham. Perhaps it was because Jonathan knew his weak spots.

"Don't go getting smart. I still know how to make you hurt."

"You have nothing on me."

"Not even your new lady friend? Wayne's little sister?" Falcone laughed as Jonathan's face paled slightly. "Oh yes, I know about her. If you want to keep those you care about safe Doc, I recommend you don't date women in the public eye. She really is very pretty…it'd be a shame if something happened to that face of hers."

* * *

The court meeting from the previous day had been playing on Rachel's mind constantly. Not just her encounter with Crane, but also bumping into Tamara like that. Tamara was a nice girl, but she was naïve and she always had been. Rachel didn't trust Crane and she couldn't see why he would have accepted her for work experience – in fact, the last she'd heard, Arkham was refusing to accept anyone for work experience after the last girl they had there got her head smashed in by a crazy who'd escaped. Of course, Crane had a lot of power in that place, and she didn't doubt that he could have modified the rules slightly if he saw something – or rather, someone – that caught his eye.

"Mr. Finch!" Rachel called, hurrying down the marble staircase leading out of the DA's office and into the courthouse in order to catch her boss before he left.

"Yes, Miss Dawes?" he asked, wearily.

"Mr. Finch, on the Falcone matter-"

Finch rolled his eyes, with a '_here we go again_' look on his face. "The case against Falcone died with Chill," he told her. "We had our shot."

Rachel followed him out into the parking lot.

"That was then – but now he's importing drugs, everybody knows it, let's take it to Harvey Dent and-"

Finch looked around him quickly. "Keep your voice down," he hissed. "Look, Rachel," he continued, his tone almost sympathetic. "Falcone's got Judge Faden and half of City Hall bought and paid for. So you got burned on Falcone – let it go, we've got bigger fish to fry."

"That would make a lot more sense if we were doing any frying," she replied coolly, more to herself than anyone else as Finch walked away, looking uncomfortable.

The only thing that little encounter had been successful in was taking her mind off Crane and Tamara.

* * *

"Do you want me to park, or what?" Tamara asked, pushing her sunglasses onto the top of her head and turning to Bruce in the passenger seat of her Camaro. He was staring out of the window at the courthouse where he could see Rachel. He seemed to be wrestling with the idea for a few moments, before he shook his head.

"No, let's go."

Tamara sighed, slightly disappointed. She'd always hoped that Rachel and Bruce would end up together. It was one of those relationships where everyone could see the feelings they felt towards each other, except for Bruce and Rachel themselves.

"I'm sure she'll come down to the manor to see you once she finds out you're alive," Tamara reassured him.

"You don't think she knows by now? It's all over the news."

Tamara shrugged. "She's probably busy at work. Don't give up hope on her Bruce, she's your oldest friend. She'll want to see you."

"Did she say anything about me yesterday?"

Tamara hesitated, wondering whether she should tell her brother about how Rachel had corrected Tamara's use of present tense the day before. "No, she didn't. She didn't get a chance to. So, Wayne Tower?"

* * *

The applied sciences division of Wayne Enterprises had turned out to be a huge warehouse below Wayne Tower, stacked with crates and odd shapes hidden by dust covers as well as various lab equipment. Lucius Fox, a friendly man in his early fifties, had lead Bruce through the maze of crates, speaking in a calm, knowledgeable tone. So far, he was the only person Bruce had met at Wayne Enterprises who seemed genuine.

"Environmental applications, defence projects, consumer products…all prototypes: none in production, at any level whatsoever."

"None?"

Fox paused for a moment, turning to face Bruce with a slightly wicked gleam in his eye.

"What did they tell you this place was?"

"They didn't tell me anything," he replied honestly.

"They told me _exactly _what it was when they sent me here: a dead end where I couldn't cause any more trouble for the rest of the board."

"You were on the board?" Bruce asked, surprised.

Fox shrugged. "Back when your father ran things."

"You knew my father?"

"Sure. Helped him build his train. Beautiful product – routed right into Wayne Tower, along with the water and power utilities. It made Wayne Tower the unofficial heart of Gotham."

Fox stopped at a particularly tall crate and checked his paperwork. He opened the crate – inside was a bodysuit, made up of clear silicone over jointed armour.

"Here it is," he said proudly. "The Nomex survival suit for advanced infantry. Kevlar bi-weave, reinforced joints…"

Bruce reached a hand out to feel the fabric of the suit.

"Bulletproof?" he questioned.

Fox nodded. "Anything but a straight shot."

"Tear-resistant?"

Fox hacked at the suit with his pen to demonstrate, and it didn't even mark it.

"This sucker will stop a _knife_."

"So why didn't they put it into production?"

He sighed. "The bean counters figured a soldier's life wasn't worth the three hundred grand." He narrowed his eyes at Bruce suspiciously. "What do you want with it, Mr. Wayne?"

"I want to borrow it," Bruce half-lied. "For spelunking. You know, cave diving."

Fox shrugged, putting the lid back onto the crate. "You get a lot of gunfire down in these caves?"

Bruce smiled at him. He liked this man. "Listen, I'd rather Mr. Earle didn't know about me borrowing-"

"Mr Wayne, the way I see it," interrupted Fox. "All this stuff is yours, anyway."

* * *

The rest of the afternoon was spent in the recently-discovered caves beneath Wayne Manor. Bruce was high up on a cavern wall, wrapped in a climbing harness and hammering a bracket into the rock to secure a line of industrial lamps, while Tamara and Alfred watched him from the ground.

"Okay! Give it a try!" Bruce called down.

Alfred threw a switch on the portable generator and the lamps flickered on, dimly lighting the length of one wall. It didn't make much of a difference, however – the caves were still damp and dingy.

"Oh, _charming_," drawled Alfred sarcastically.

Tamara looked up uneasily at the bats that covered the entire ceiling.

"At least you'll have company," she muttered.

Bruce began to climb back down to the cave floor, looking up to a high corner as he did so, where crumbling brickwork was just visible.

"This must be the lowest foundations of the Southeast wing," Alfred explained. Bruce climbed back up towards the brickwork. Just through the rock ceiling, the bottom of a wrought-iron spiral staircase was sticking out. In the very centre of the spiral sat a dumb-waiter lift which had fallen off its track. Bruce grabbed the chains of the lift and rattled them, sending a wave echoing up into the darkness. "During the civil war your great-grandfather was involved with the Underground Railroad, secretly transporting freed slaves to the North," continued Alfred. "I suspect these caverns came in handy."

Bruce jumped down and moved to the small river, following it to where it began to disappear under some rocks, which he stepped over. Alfred and Tamara watched him patiently, waiting for Bruce to re-emerge. He did so behind the face of a waterfall. He grinned, hopping along a group of slick rocks right up to the beautiful curtain of water.

"Alfred, Tamara, come up here," he called down to them, still in awe from his discovery.

They were twenty feet behind him, on the dry rocks.

"I can see it alright from here, actually Bruce," called back Tamara.

* * *

"So we order the main part of this cowl from Singapore?" Alfred asked, surveying the notes and diagrams Bruce had made since his return to Gotham, the three of them now stood in the make-shift workshop and office Bruce had set up in the caves.

"Via a dummy corporation," Bruce nodded.

"Then I guess we could separately place an order to a Chinese company for these," Tamara suggested.

"Put it together ourselves," Bruce agreed.

"Precisely," said Alfred. "But they'll have to be large orders, to avoid suspicion."

"How large?"

"Say ten thousand?"

"Well, at least we'll have spares." Bruce turned in his seat to face Tamara who was stood over him, looking at all his notes with a look on her face that was part intense concentration and part amazement. Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Don't you have a date to be getting ready for?"

"Shit," Tamara muttered, and with that she rushed out of the caves and back to the manor to get ready.

* * *

This date had possibly proven harder to get ready for than the previous one as Tamara was not entirely sure of the dress-code. She didn't want to turn up to Crane's house too dressed up, but she didn't want to be under-dressed, either. She ended up settling on a casual dress and cardigan and she slipped her feet into some flat-heeled black boots, hoping she'd got the mix between casual and dressy just right. Jonathan had texted her his address the day before, and thankfully she knew where it was – an old friend of hers used to live nearby – so she didn't need a lift off Alfred and could drive herself. Also, what with his house being on the edge of central Gotham closest to the Narrows, she wouldn't have to worry about being spotted by paparazzi. This date would be far more relaxed.

The area in which Jonathan lived was surprisingly nice considering its close proximity to the Narrows, but Tamara supposed its location was probably convenient for his work. While all the houses on the street were terraced, they were all quite wide with three stories, and Tamara guessed they probably went back quite far too. They couldn't be cheap. She parked her car on the street outside. It seemed a safe enough neighbourhood and she'd spotted quite a few expensive cars parked on this road, so she didn't worry about leaving it outside. She'd checked the time right before she'd gotten out of her car and she'd been proud to see it was exactly one minute to eight – she'd left early to account for rush hour traffic. She made her way up the steps to his front door, hastily checking her phone to ensure she'd got the right address, and rang the doorbell. It was opened by Jonathan almost instantly, and Tamara's face broke out into a smile upon seeing him. It was interesting to see him in his own home – he was distinctly more relaxed without his suit jacket or his glasses.

"Hello, Tamara," he smiled. "Please come in."

She stepped over the threshold and allowed him to close the door behind her. Seeing the neat row of shoes in the hallway, she decided that he probably preferred people not to wear shoes in his house, so she slipped out of her boots and left them in the hallway alongside her bag.

Jonathan noticed this and nodded gratefully. "Not everyone notices that, you know," he said.

"I'm observant," she shrugged, following him down the hallway and into the kitchen, where she could smell pasta sauce cooking. "Plus, I'd be exactly the same if I were you. I wouldn't be able to stand people treading dirt through my lovely home."

This seemed to amuse him. "I suppose that's not so much of an issue when you live in a manor with staff to clean it."

She blushed. "Not as much, no."

He laughed, stepping forward to kiss her cheek, and Tamara found herself colouring further at this sudden display of affection. She'd never really placed him as being a particularly physical guy, but he continued to surprise her.

"Is pasta alright for dinner?" he asked.

She nodded. "That's perfect. I love Italian."

He smiled one of his genuine smiles that actually reached his beautiful eyes. "Good. I'm afraid I didn't make the pasta myself, but I did make the sauce."

Tamara walked over to the pan in which it was simmering and lifted the lid, sniffing it. "It smells delicious, Jonathan."

"Well, I just hope it tastes as good. Care for a glass of Amarone?"

Tamara's jaw dropped as she saw the bottle of wine he held in his hands. There was a reason she'd paid for it herself in the restaurant – each bottle cost around $280 dollars.

"Oh Jonathan, you shouldn't have," she sighed.

"Why not?" he shrugged, uncorking the bottle. "I saw how much you enjoyed it the other night, and I have to admit, I enjoyed it myself too. There's no harm in splashing out every once in a while." He poured two glasses and handed one to her.

"Thank you," she murmured sincerely.

"You're welcome, dear."

* * *

Tamara was not the only Wayne who was out that evening. Bruce too, was out in Gotham, except he was crouched on a rooftop balustrade, dressed in the bodysuit from the applied sciences department and a black balaclava. He was watching the police station across the street, outside of which, Detective Gordon had just climbed out of a car. Bruce knew what he would find when he reached his office – a copy of an old book entitled '_The Twilight World Of Bats_' lying on his desk, and Bruce waiting for him in the shadows.

Sure enough, Gordon found the book. He stared at it, puzzled, when suddenly the lights went out, bathing the room in darkness.

"Don't turn around," Bruce growled.

Gordon froze – Bruce was stood behind him, pressing a stapler between the man's shoulder blades. He knew it would feel like a gun to anyone who didn't know better.

"What do you want?" Gordon asked, nervously.

"I've been watching," Bruce said, lowering his voice so that it was gruffer than usual. "You're a good cop – one of the few. What would it take to get Falcone?"

"Carmine Falcone?"

"He brings in shipments of drugs every week yet nobody takes him down. Why?"

"He's paid up with the right people."

"What would it take?" Bruce repeated, pressing the stapler harder into Gordon's back.

"Leverage on Judge Faden, and a DA brave enough to prosecute."

"Rachel Dawes in the DA's office."

"Who are you?" Gordon asked suspiciously.

"Watch for a sign."

"You're just one man?"

"Now we are two," Bruce whispered, and then he was gone.

"_We_?" Gordon spun around in his seat as the pressure against his back lifted, but there was no one there. He jumped to the window, and saw a shadow slip onto the roof as he looked up. He drew his gun and made his way outside, racing up the stairwell, followed by two uniforms who'd seen him go. Bruce made his way to the edge of the roof and stopped – the gap was far bigger than he'd estimated. He turned back, looking for another escape route, but the door had banged open and Gordon was stood before him, gun in hand.

"FREEZE!" Gordon cried.

Bruce had no choice. He raced for the gap and leapt, dropping fast and missing the top story. He grabbed the balcony below, but it broke away, dropping him onto the one below that. Winded, he climbed up onto the wall – all in all, it had been a very ungraceful, and thoroughly embarrassing, getaway.

From the other roof, Gordon watched him melt into the shadows.

"The hell was that?" a cop asked him.

Gordon shrugged, dismissive. "Just some nut."

* * *

Tamara yawned sleepily, burying her face into Jonathan's warm chest. They were curled up on the sofa, Jonathan's arm resting loosely across her shoulders as they watched a film on the TV, full of pasta and wine.

"Are you getting tired?" he murmured into her hair.

"A little bit."

"Do you want me to drive you home?"

She shook her head. "No, no, it's fine. I'll drive myself home," she insisted, standing up and almost instantly toppling straight back over onto the sofa. Jonathan smirked, catching her by her hips.

"I think you've had a few too many glasses of wine."

"I'm fine," she pouted, running a hand through her hair. As much as she insisted that she was sober, her cheeks were flushed red and she could barely stand.

"I don't need a psychology Ph.D. to be able to tell when you're drunk," he reminded her. He'd had a pleasant evening, but he wanted to get rid of her. She was agitating the voice in his head and he didn't want to snap at her.

"_Fucking hell Crane, you sure know how to pick 'em…"_ the voice drawled. "_Don't be a gentleman. She's no use to you when she's pissed unless you want to get her into bed._"

"Shut up," Jonathan spat, tired of the crude sexual comments the voice insisted on making.

"I'm sorry?" Tamara asked, her eyes widening in surprise. He was still propping her up with his hands on her hips. "I didn't say anything…"

"Sorry," Jonathan murmured, shaking his head. "I could hear my neighbour's dog barking."

She frowned. "I can't hear anything."

"Oh, can you not?" he asked, trying to stay casual. He couldn't believe he'd just slipped up like that. "I must have been imagining things…"

Luckily, Tamara hadn't paid his mistake much notice. "Ugh, come here Jonathan," she moaned, falling on top of him, her legs straddling his own and her hands resting on his shoulders.

"Tamara," he muttered. "Not when you're drunk."

"But I want you," she whispered against his neck, her breath hot as she covered his neck and throat in little wet kisses.

He placed his hands firmly on her waist and pushed her away from him slightly so that he could look her in the eyes. "No," he said firmly. "Let me drive you home."

She giggled childishly. "I don't want to go," she replied, pressing her lips against his own. "I want you…"

He gave in to the kiss momentarily, allowing her tongue to slide into his mouth and toy with his own. In all honesty, it was such a long time since he'd been intimate with a woman, he couldn't deny himself pleasure, especially with a woman whom he found so attractive. As the kiss deepened and became firmer he allowed his hands to slide down her body and she moaned slightly into the kiss.

"_And Crane is getting laid. Finally!" _the voice cried. _"This has got to be the first time in what, three years, is it? Oh Johnny, I'm gonna enjoy this…_"

Jonathan pushed Tamara away from him and stood up, letting her slide off his lap. She looked hurt.

"Jonathan, what-?"

"I'm sorry," he said. "Not when you're drunk. It's not right."

"Oh, don't be such a fucking gentleman," she muttered, but she didn't fight him this time and walked into the hallway to pick up her shoes and bag.

"Can I have your car keys?"

She nodded, and dropped them into his hand.

"Are you annoyed with me?"

"Can't you tell? I thought you could read me like an open book," she mocked.

He laughed slightly. "I don't think you're annoyed with me. Just annoyed that you know I'm right."

She sighed. "I hope one day you'll be wrong and I'll be right."

"Trust me, it'll never happen. Now come on, let's get you home."


	8. A Grapefruit Sea Breeze

**__Author's note:** No Crane in this one, sorry :( He'll be in the next chapter.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but my OC.

**_Chapter 3_**

**_Part 1  
_**

**_A Grapefruit Sea Breeze  
_**

"Knock knock."

Tamara opened her eyes sleepily, instantly raising a hand to shield them from the morning sunlight as Bruce opened her curtains, setting a tray of breakfast down on her bedside table.

"I'm not hungry," she murmured.

"I don't care," he shrugged. "Eat."

"No," she replied, rolling over and burying her face into her pillow.

Bruce sat down at the end of the bed, leaning back so that he was resting uncomfortably on the backs of her calves. She kicked out, trying to push him off, but he was too heavy. She groaned and rolled back over, sitting up slightly.

"Normally, Alfred leaves me alone until the evening when I'm hungover."

"Well, I'm not Alfred."

Tamara sighed, reaching over for the glass of orange juice Bruce had brought her. Her head was pounding and her mouth was unbearably dry. Fuck, she hadn't even had that much to drink, but this hangover was taking her back to her high school days.

"What time did I get back last night?"

"About one in the morning. Your boyfriend drove you home. I must say, I'm impressed with him. A lesser man would have taken advantage of you in a state like that."

Tamara gave a disgruntled snort as she remembered with some embarrassment how she'd tried to force herself on Jonathan the night before. Wonderful. She'd have to apologise the next time she saw him.

"Yeah, he's a real gentleman," she nodded. She noticed whoever had put her to bed had left her in the dress from the night before and just taken off her shoes and jewellery – that was an Alfred trademark. "Anything else you want, Bruce? Or are you just here to annoy me?"

He moved along the bed a bit so he was sat closer to Tamara. "Actually, I did want to talk business with you, if you're up to it."

She nodded wearily. "What's up?"

"I can't take control of Wayne Enterprises until my twenty-eighth birthday," Bruce told her.

She shrugged. "That's only a couple of months away."

Bruce nodded. "I know. Which is why I have a feeling Mr. Earle will be moving fast."

"To do what?"

"An IPO – initial public offering."

"I know what it means," she snapped.

"There's nothing that can stop them taking the company public, you see. I think they're hoping to make me just another board member."

Tamara took this in slowly. "Okay…so what do you plan on doing?"

"Mr. Earle called me this morning. He said they'd been thinking for some time now about offering shares. To 'raise capital for growth'. He's acting as though he's intending for me to take over the company, but I know better. Just leave this to me, okay, Tammy? I just thought you should know, since this is your family business just as much as it is mine. Now, I'm heading back down to applied sciences. You work on getting rid of that hangover."

* * *

Mr. Fox looked up from his desk at the sound of footsteps approaching. Ah, yes, Mr. Wayne. He'd been wondering when he'd next make an appearance. He smiled warmly at him – he liked the kid. He was a hell of a lot more fun than the rest of the corporate drones around here.

"Well, what's it today? More 'sperlunking'?"

"Spelunking," Bruce corrected him good-naturedly. "And no, today it's base-jumping."

"Base-jumping? Is that like parachuting?"

"Kind of. I need some sort of light-weight grappling hook."

Fox was used to odd requests, but these were particularly odd coming from a billionaire, despite his 'extreme hobbies'. "For what?"

"Base-jumping's illegal," explained Bruce.

"Well, we've got suction pads, grapples…"

"Any good?"

He shook his head. "Nope. But this thing's pretty good."

He pulled out a box from one of his desk drawers. In it was a bronze grappling gun and harness.

"It's pneumatic," he said. "Magnetic grapple. Monofilament tested to three hundred and fifty pounds."

Bruce took it from him, feeling the weight. It was light, but strong. He picked up the harness that went with it – it had shoulder straps with a wide, hi-tech belt. He shoved the back end of the gun into the belt buckle, and it gave a satisfying click as it slid into place.

"Too expensive for the army?" he asked.

Fox took it back from him and gave him a sardonic look. "I guess they never thought about marketing to the billionaire base-jumping, spelunking market."

"Look, Mr. Fox, if you're uncomfortable-"

Lucius raised a hand to silence Bruce. "Mr. Wayne, if you don't tell me what you're really doing, then when I get asked I don't have to lie. Just don't treat me like an idiot."

Bruce nodded and smiled. "Fair enough."

"I have something else to show you, too. Come with me."

He led Bruce into the loading dock of the applied sciences division, and handed him a simple sheet of black fabric.

"Notice anything?"

Bruce shrugged. There didn't seem to be anything special about it. Fox slipped on a glove.

"It's memory fabric," he said. "It has dual-layer polymers with variable alignment molecules. It's flexible ordinarily, but if you put a current through it…"

He took the fabric back off Bruce, and as soon as his glove touched it, it popped out into a rigid shape, similar to that of a one-man tent.

"The molecules align and become rigid."

Bruce pushed down on the fabric, feeling its strength. He was impressed.

"What kind of shapes can you make?" he asked.

Fox released the material and it instantly collapsed. "It could be tailored to any structure based on a rigid skeleton."

Bruce considered this for a minute, lost in thought – that was, until he noticed something in the far corner. It was a kind of vehicle, covered by a tarp. All that was visible of it was its huge tires.

"What's _that_?"

"The Tumbler?" asked Fox, rolling up the memory fabric. "Oh, you wouldn't be interested in that."

* * *

As it turned out, Bruce was interested in it – so much so, that he'd convinced Mr. Fox to allow him to drive it on the test track. The Tumbler was low and wide, painted in a sandy camouflage pattern. It was piloted by using aircraft-like control sticks. Fox was literally hanging on to the passenger seat for dear life as Bruce steered the vehicle. Fox had to shout to be heard over the incredible noise of the engine.

"She was built as a bridging vehicle," he explained. "You hit that button-"

Bruce reached for it.

"No, not now!" he cried, causing Bruce to recoil hastily.

"It boosts her into a rampless jump. In combat, two of these would jump over a river, towing cables. We could never get the damn bridge to work, but this baby works just fine."

Bruce finally allowed the Tumbler to skid to a halt, thoroughly exhilarated. Fox, on the other hand, was looking slightly nauseous.

"What do you think?"

Bruce turned to him with a slight smile. "Does it come in black?"

* * *

Falcone was sat in one of the more expensive bars on Infantino Parkway in the centre of Gotham. He knew that Tamara Wayne would come here later. She came here every Wednesday night for a grapefruit Sea Breeze. Why she couldn't just get one in her own fucking mansion he didn't know, but he supposed he should just be grateful for this opportunity to have a little chat with her. First things first though, he had to deal with Flass, a cop he had working for him. He was a large guy in his early forties. Personally, Falcone couldn't stand him, but you couldn't just choose who you worked with in a business such as this.

"I need you at the docks tomorrow night," he told Flass upon his arrival.

"Problems?"

"I don't want any trouble with the last shipment."

"Sure," Flass nodded. "Word on the street is you got a beef with somebody in the DA's office."

"Is that right?"

"And that there's a fat prize waiting for anybody willing to do anything about it."

"So, what's your point, Mr. Flass?"

"Have you seen the girl? It's a cute little assistant DA. Don't you think that's a little bit too much heat to bring down, maybe? Even for this town."

Falcone smirked, his eyes lighting upon Miss Wayne, who'd just walked into the room and taken a seat at the bar, looking pretty as ever. "Never underestimate Gotham City. People get mugged coming home from work every day of the week. Sometimes things just go bad. Now, if you'll excuse me, Mr. Flass – there's someone here that I need to have a word with."

* * *

"The usual then, Miss Wayne?"

Tamara sighed, running a hand through her freshly-styled hair. "They do say the best way to cure a hangover is with more alcohol."

The bartender grinned as he made her a drink. "Wild night, then? I didn't think you were the type."

She shook her head. "No, just a few too many glasses of wine." She took her Sea Breeze off him and downed half of it in a couple of sips. It was then that she realised that the bar stool next to her own had been taken. She rolled her eyes, not in the mood for conversing with strangers. She turned slightly, trying to work out how to ask the intruder to leave in the politest way possible – and she came face to face with Carmine Falcone.

A gasp escaped her lips. "Mr. Falcone," she stammered.

The bartender had noticed, of course, but it's not like there was a damn thing he could do about it. He could hardly call the cops on Falcone just for setting foot into his bar – that wasn't illegal.

"Good evening, Miss Wayne. Enjoying your Sea Breeze?"

She gulped loudly, her throat suddenly feeling very tight. "Can I help you?"

"Actually, Miss Wayne, you can. Tell me – how's Dr Crane?"

Tamara's jaw dropped slightly. What did this man – arguably the most wanted criminal in Gotham – want with Jonathan? "I – I don't understand."

Falcone raised an eyebrow impatiently. "Oh really, Miss Wayne? Because from what I've gathered, you two are getting pretty cosy. Did you have a nice date last night? I'm sure you were surprised by what a nice house he has for a man with his income. Yeah, it shocked me too. I reckon that man earns more than he lets onto, just between you and me."

Tamara had no idea what to say. She closed her eyes and inhaled shakily. "Have you been following me?" she murmured.

This made Falcone laugh. "Oh please, Miss Wayne, don't flatter yourself. I have far more important things to waste my time on than the 'Princess of Gotham'. No, no, what I'm interested in is your boyfriend."

"What's Jonathan got to do with you?" she asked, sounding a lot braver than she felt.

Falcone leaned closer to her. "Well, if I told you that, I'd have to kill you."

Tamara instinctively reached for her clutch bag on the bar beside her to get her phone out, but Falcone's hand clamped down on her wrist. "Who're you going to call, Tamara? Your big brother? Your butler? Crane? No, I don't think so. This is just between us, sweetheart."

He let go of her wrist and she moved her shaking hand back to her lap. "I don't understand," she repeated.

"Let's just say," began Falcone. "That you're safe – for now. But I just think you should know, that if your little boyfriend steps out of line or tries to fuck me over, you won't be quite so safe. Unfortunately for you, you're just about all he has to care about - only child, parents deceased. So just don't doubt Miss Wayne, that absolutely nothing will stop me from scarring up those lovely red lips of yours – and that would just be the beginning." With those final ominous words he stood up, leaving Tamara a shaking wreck on her bar stool.

* * *

She'd waited a few minutes until she was sure Falcone had gone, turning down all offers of help from the bartender and downing her Sea Breeze, before rushing outside to her car. She knew she could have simply just called Jonathan, but she had to see him in person. She had to understand what was going on here. She drove straight to Arkham, the Narrows looking more threatening than usual in the dim light of the summer evening. She made her way through the streets of the Narrows as quickly as possible, not wanting to draw attention to herself – a young woman in an expensive vintage car and designer clothes stood out in completely the wrong way in a place like this.

She stumbled from her car up the steps to the Asylum doors, cursing herself for choosing shoes with such high heels. Then again, when she'd left the Manor that evening, she hadn't intended on having a run-in with a wanted criminal and having to rush to Arkham. Goddammit, all she'd wanted was a fucking drink. She knew it would have been a bad idea.

The place was pretty much shut up for the night, most of the lights turned off and the only person there was a receptionist behind the main desk – a younger one than before, who was probably only working here for a summer job. She looked up at the sound of Tamara's YSL heels hitting the tiled floor and her eyes practically lit up with excitement at the sight of Tamara. She wouldn't be surprised if the girl asked her for her autograph. Under any other circumstances she would have laughed – she was on the front of the gossip magazine the girl was reading, alongside the headline '_Tamara Wayne – how to get her billionaire style for under $100!_'

"Miss Wayne," gasped the girl. "How can I help you?"

"I need to speak to Dr Crane."

"I'm sorry, Miss, he's not here right now. He had to leave town earlier this evening for a court case in Chicago. He should be back later tonight. Do you want me to take a message?"

Tamara groaned in frustration, running her hands through her hair and messing it up. "No, it's fine. I'll just talk to him tomorrow."

She turned to leave, before pausing. She'd had a sudden thought – what if Falcone knew that she was going to start work experience here? She didn't want him knowing that. She turned back to the girl.

"Can you just check something for me, please?"

The girl nodded keenly. "Is my name on your database here?"

The girl frowned in confusion. "Why would it be, Miss Wayne? You've never been a patient here, have you?"

Tamara frowned at her like she was speaking a foreign language. "No," she spoke slowly. "I was just wondering if they've put me on the system yet, since I'm starting my work experience here soon."

"Miss Wayne, there must be some mistake-"

"What are you talking about?"

"Arkham Asylum doesn't do work experience. I actually tried to get some here myself earlier this year for high school, but they told me they don't allow work experience here anymore after an accident that happened not so long ago."

Tamara raised an eyebrow. "It must be different for me, it's probably because you're still a child and I'm an adult-"

"No, Miss Wayne, they ended their work experience programme full-stop. Who told you that you had a placement here?"

"Dr Crane."

The young receptionist's face paled slightly. "Perhaps you'd better take the matter up with him, Miss Wayne. I can only tell you what I know, I'm sorry."

Tamara stepped back slightly, not quite sure what to think. What the fuck was going on?

**Author's note: **Ok, I know that in the film it's Bruce's 30th birthday, but because he's a bit younger in my story I changed it to 28th. I'm also assuming that his birthday's on October 13th, but I looked around on the Internet and it seems there's quite a bit of debate on his date of birth. Also, thanks to Zeny for your suggestion about Falcone, and thanks to everyone else who's reviewed so far. P.S. - I'm guessing any Cillian Murphy fans reading this noticed the hugely obvious Red Eye reference?


	9. Doubt

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but my OC.

_**Chapter 3**_

_**Part 2  
**_

_**Doubt  
**_

Bruce had been hard at work in the caves the next morning, accompanied by Alfred and Tamara. Tamara, who was still unnerved from the night before, wanted desperately to talk to Bruce about Falcone, but she didn't want to do so around Alfred and so far she hadn't gotten a chance to be alone with him.

Bruce had cut the shoulder straps off the harness for the grapple, leaving just a belt with sliding attachments. He'd also spent a large period of the morning testing the memory fabric. Sadly however, the cowl that they'd attempted to make hadn't been quite so successful. True, it looked amazing – black with a slight graphite sheen, dramatic, iconic, even – but one swing of a baseball bat to its crown and it would crack in two.

"It's a problem with the graphite, apparently sir," Alfred frowned. "The next ten thousand will be up to specifications."

"At least they gave us a discount," sighed Bruce.

"Quite," nodded Alfred. "In the meantime, might I suggest sir, that you try to avoid landing on your head?"

Bruce shot Alfred a look, and then went back to attempting to fit a small microphone onto the cowl.

"Are you alright, Miss Wayne?" Alfred asked, concerned. "You've been awfully quiet."

Tamara was sat on the edge of the desk, not really contributing or being particularly helpful.

"I'm fine," she said, smiling weakly. "Just got a few things on my mind."

Bruce turned to her, raising an eyebrow. Her lie might have convinced Alfred, but she knew that Bruce knew her better than that.

* * *

Bruce had spent the rest of the afternoon grinding thin sheets of metal at a lathe. He'd shaped them into the silhouette of a bat.

"Why the design, Master Wayne?"

He paused to blow on his handiwork.

"A man – however strong, however skilled – is just flesh and blood. I need to be more than a man. I need to be a symbol."

"And why bats?"

"Bats frighten me." He smiled slightly. "It's time my enemies shared my dread."

Alfred nodded, satisfied with his answer, before making his way back up to the manor to get them all some lunch. Tamara stayed perched on the edge of the desk, observing Bruce. He threw the bat shape, which whistled through the air and lodged itself into one of the cave walls. He gave a pleased nod, before turning to his sister.

"What's happened?" he asked. "Is it Crane?"

"Not exactly," she shrugged. "Bruce, I need you to do me a favour and I don't want you to ask me questions, alright?"

"What is it?" he frowned, concerned.

"Get rid of Falcone," she begged. "Please, Bruce."

Bruce moved over to her and rested his hands on her knees, looking right into her eyes. "Why, Tamara? What's he done?"

"I told you not to ask me any questions."

"Yeah, but you just told me to get rid of the most wanted criminal in Gotham, Tamara – you've got to assume that I might be at least a little curious about this."

She sighed, breaking eye contact with him. "He came up to me in the bar last night."

"What the fuck? What did he want?"

"I don't really know, he just threatened me."

Bruce's expression grew angry and he dug his hands into her knees. "What did he say, Tamara?"

"I think he's working with Jonathan," she admitted, her voice wavering. "He said…he said that I'm the only person Jonathan cares about and if…if he tries to fuck Falcone over he'll…he'll hurt me."

"Get away from Jonathan, Tamara. Get away from him now. I'll sort Falcone out, but you've got to end things with Crane."

Tamara looked up at him, shocked. "What? No! I don't have any proof that he's even working for Falcone."

"Carmine Falcone isn't the sort of guy to just target random women, Tamara, he must have a reason for doing this."

Tamara shrugged. "I'm going to speak to Jonathan myself."

"What if he lies to you?"

"He wouldn't."

* * *

"Miss Wayne, you're back!"

The young receptionist was behind the desk at Arkham again. Tamara took the time to read her name badge this time, and found out that her name was Alexa.

"Hi Alexa," she smiled, trying to act more confident than she felt. "Is Dr Crane here now? I tried calling him earlier but he didn't pick up."

"He's been with patients all morning," Alexa explained. "But he should be finished in about ten minutes. Do you want to wait for him in his office?"

"Yes, thank you," Tamara nodded. This was easy enough. "Oh, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't let him know that I'm here?" Alexa frowned. "I want it to be a surprise."

"Oh, that's so cute!" Alexa squealed.

Tamara gave her a fake smile and turned, trying to remember her way to his office. Luckily, it was pretty straight-forward. She closed the heavy wooden door behind her and went and sat down in the chair she'd sat in the first time she'd been here the week before. It amazed her how much had happened in such a short space of time. The last time she'd been here she'd been starting to try and convince herself that Bruce was dead, for a start.

The office was pretty minimal. It was Gothic, like the rest of the building, and decorated in dark, rich colours, but there were several modern touches that suited Jonathan. She jumped slightly as the office door opened. Had it been ten minutes already?

"Tamara? What are you doing here?"

She stood up and turned to him, giving him her best smile. "Hey baby," she grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck and pecking his lips quickly. "I tried calling first but you didn't answer."

He ran his hands gently along her arms and pushed her away from him slightly. "I apologise, I was with patients all morning." He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously. "Is there any particular reason for this visit?" She guessed Jonathan wasn't a fan of spontaneity.

"Yes, actually," she nodded, sitting back down. Jonathan sat down opposite her, peering at her over the frames of his glasses. "I was out last night, just getting a drink at my favourite bar, like I do every Wednesday, and guess who sat down next to me at the bar?"

Jonathan shrugged. "I have no idea. Can this wait until later, Tamara? I'm quite-"

"Carmine Falcone."

Jonathan, who'd previously been looking through files on his desk, looked up at these words, his face noticeably paler. "I beg your pardon?"

"Carmine Falcone. He's the person who sat by me in the bar yesterday."

Jonathan shrugged. "Well, Tamara, the man has a social life too you know, perhaps you should just choose a new favourite bar that's clientele is slightly more…legal."

Tamara laughed slightly. "No, Jonathan, you don't understand. Falcone had come to the bar to see me specifically."

Jonathan bristled slightly. "And why was that? You know, Tamara, I'm starting to think that you going out on your own isn't the best-"

"Stop it, Jonathan," she snapped. "He came to talk to me about you and you know it. He threatened me because of you. What's going on between you? And don't even think about lying to me."

Jonathan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly. "Mr. Falcone holds a bit of a grudge against me," he lied easily.

"Why?" Tamara frowned.

"Because I've recently declared a fair few of his men insane. He's unhappy with me because of that. That's all there is to it, Tamara."

She sighed, relieved. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have doubted you."

He held a hand up, silencing her. "Don't be ridiculous. You were scared, it's understandable. Just be careful where you go and who you go out with from now on."

"Now I'm worried about you, Jonathan," she sighed. "He's a dangerous man to have holding a grudge against you."

Jonathan smiled thinly. "I can look after myself, Tamara, don't worry. Was there anything else? I hate to be rude, but I've got a few things to see to this afternoon."

She shook her head. "No, that was all." She stood up and Jonathan did the same, leading her to the door of his office. He placed one cool hand on her cheek and kissed the tip of her nose.

"Perhaps we could see each other tomorrow?"

"I'd like that," she smiled, kissing him again. How could she ever have mistrusted this man? He was the sweetest person she knew.

They said their goodbyes and Tamara began to leave his office, when she suddenly remembered something else that she'd wanted to talk to him about.

"Oh, Jonathan?" she called, turning back around. He'd just been shutting his office door, but he paused and held it open slightly.

"Yes, dear?"

"Why have I got a work experience placement here?"

He frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be coy, Jonathan," she sighed. "Arkham Asylum doesn't offer work experience anymore. So why am I here? You knew I was going to find this out eventually."

He sighed, stepping out of his office and making his way to Tamara, resting his hands lightly on her waist. "You want to know truth?"

She nodded. She could feel butterflies in her stomach and she wasn't sure if it was due to the close proximity of her boyfriend or whether she was just nervous to hear Jonathan's confession.

"I made an exception for you," he murmured, his voice incredibly low and soft, "because when I first laid eyes on you, I believed you were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, and I wanted a chance to get to know you. Does that answer your question?"

Tamara gaped at him, speechless. That was certainly not what she'd been expecting. "But – but…" she stammered. "When I first made the call to book an appointment, I said I wanted work experience…why didn't they just turn me away then?"

He shrugged, moving his hands gently up and down her sides. "They don't screen calls here," he replied. "So will you stop mistrusting me now?"

She laughed slightly. "I'm sorry, Jonathan."

"You're forgiven."

He moved his head down to kiss her deeply and Tamara practically melted in his arms. God, she hadn't been kissed like this since…well, never. She felt almost disappointed when he finally pulled away.

"Now, I really have to work," he said, his blue eyes twinkling good-naturedly. "But I'll be thinking of you."

As soon as Tamara left, he hurried back to his office, locking the door behind him. That had been far too close.

'_It's a good job you're so talented at lying, hey, Jonny__? You could've been in a lot of trouble there.._'

Jonathan pushed his palms into his forehead, attempting to silence the voice. When it quietened down enough for him to think, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialled Falcone's number with shaking fingers.

"What, Crane?"

"Stay away from Tamara."

Falcone chuckled darkly. "Hey, I told you I could make you hurt, Doc. I only scared her a little. You know I won't touch her unless you screw up."

"No," Crane spat. "You won't touch her _at all_. She's mine, do you understand?"

"Jeez, Doc, possessive much?"

"I don't have time for this," he snapped. "Just stay away from her. I'm not going to disappoint you, Mr. Falcone. Don't mistake me for a stupid man."

"I know you're not stupid, Crane," Falcone drawled. "But even the most intelligent men can make mistakes."

* * *

If you were at the docks that evening, you'd see a group of men unloading crates from a large open container. You'd also probably be shot - the men worked for Falcone. Flass was also there, as he'd promised Falcone he would be. He opened up one of the crates, to find it filled to the brim with stuffed toys.

"Cute," he muttered. He ripped open a toy, and found a plastic package inside. "Oh? What have we here?" No one replied to him. Flass shrugged. "Carry on, gents."

He made his way back to the sedan that he'd arrived in, where Falcone was waiting for him.

"It looks fine out there," Flass shrugged. "The bears are going straight to the dealers."

Falcone nodded, satisfied. "Yeah, and the rabbits go to the man in the Narrows."

"What's the difference?"

"Ignorance is bliss, my friend," chuckled Falcone. "Don't burden yourself with the secrets of scary people."

* * *

Unloading crates inevitably becomes tiring after a while. One man handed a box to his colleague, who took it and walked away along the corridor of containers. This process had been repeating itself for the last hour. The first man yawned and turned back to the open container, his mind filled with thoughts of getting home, having a coffee and kissing his wife. That was – until he was yanked into the darkness, with nothing but an echoing cry to imply that there had ever been a man stood there. His colleague turned, staring uneasily down the deserted corridor to the black mouth of the open container.

"Steiss?" he called. There was no reply. He put down the crate he was carrying and pulled out his gun. Something wasn't right. A third man came around the corner.

"Come on, we gotta-" He paused, noticing the gun, and pulled out his own. The two men moved cautiously towards the container and peered in once they'd reached it. Behind them, a lamp above the corridor shattered. The two men turned, startled, and another lamp shattered – and another – and another. Darkness was advancing towards them as more and more lights began to break. As the closest lamp shattered, a glint of metal dropped to the ground. One of the men bent down to pick it up – it was a brushed steel plate in the shape of a bat. He turned to his friend, but he was distracted by something above them.

"What?" he snapped, looking up himself. A dark shape was hanging from the crane directly above them. It looked like a giant bat with folded wings, its head pointed towards the ground – but that was impossible, right?

"What the hell?"

The bat dropped. Its 'wings' whipped out, rigid, and caught the air, flipping the shape downwards and enveloping the man who had spoken in the darkness. The remaining man bolted, racing between containers, his arms pumping frantically. He sprinted headlong down the narrow corridor, racing towards the exit, but it was too late. The dark figure side-swiped him, spinning him off his feet and whipping him into darkness with a piercing scream.

* * *

Flass looked up from where he was sitting in the car. "I better check it," he told Falcone, climbing out of the car. Meanwhile, within the docks, more men had reacted to the third man's scream, and had begun to advance towards the stacks, guns in hands. One man made the fatal mistake of taking a brief step backwards. He heard movement in the shadows behind him.

"Where are you?" he screamed.

"Here."

Before the man could react, a pair of arms had been wrapped around his neck and he was pulled backwards into the darkness. Open fire broke out in the warehouse, stopping Flass in his tracks. He didn't dare step one foot in there. He span around at the sound of footsteps beside him, but thankfully it was only Falcone.

"There's a problem out here," he said. "You'd better bail."

Falcone nodded, making his way back to the sedan. "Get going," Falcone muttered to his driver. His driver was slumped in his seat, either unconscious, or dead - Falcone didn't want to find out which. "Shit." He reached forward to where his shotgun lay and loaded it hastily, looking around cautiously as he did so. He exhaled shakily. "What in God's name are you?" he whispered.

The sun roof of his car shattered and a pair of strong arms pulled him up through it. "I'm Batman," a gravelly voice responded. That was the last thing Falcone heard before he was knocked unconscious.

* * *

Rachel hated public transport in Gotham. There was a time when the monorail had been new and exciting, but now taking it was like gambling with your life, especially at that time of night. Luckily it was only her and one other guy on board that night, and he hadn't paid her much attention. That didn't mean that she didn't practically run off the train once it got to her stop, though, holding her handbag tightly to her. She turned slightly at the sound of footsteps behind her. Shit – it was the guy from the monorail. She broke out into a jog, only to have her path blocked by another guy. She reached a shaking hand into her bag, pulling out her taser and pointing it at the guy in front of her. It was always wise to carry something around with you for self-defence in a city like Gotham, but as of yet she'd never had to use it. She was so focused on holding her taser steady that she didn't even notice Batman land behind her, taking down the guy who'd been following her. The guy stood before Rachel looked at Batman with wide eyes, and turned on his heel and ran. No one had told him that this job would involve dealing with giant bats.

"That's right, you better run," Rachel called after him, convinced it was her taser that had scared him off. She turned back around, intending to scare off the other guy with newfound confidence, only to find herself face-to-face with a dark, cloaked figure. She screamed.

"Falcone sent them to kill you," he growled.

"Why?" she asked, shaking.

"You rattled his cage," he shrugged. He slid a file of photos across the floor to her. They were all pictures of Judge Faden, with a pretty blonde girl on his arm.

"What the hell is this?"

"Leverage."

"For what?"

"To get things moving."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Who are you?"

"Someone like you," he said simply. "Someone who'll rattle the cages." With that, he was gone.

* * *

It was gone midnight when Tamara was awoken from her sleep by the sound of footsteps in her room. She sat bolt upright, turning her lamp on. A dark figure stood at the end of her bed and instinctively, she screamed.

"Christ, Tamara!" Bruce cried, pulling the cowl off his head and running a hand through his sweaty hair. "It's me. Don't you recognise the suit?"

Tamara sighed, clutching her heart. "You scared the shit out of me," she hissed. "At one in the morning I wasn't exactly expecting to be woken up by a giant bat at the end of my bed, you know."

He shrugged apologetically. "I sorted out Falcone for you."

"Oh, thank you."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that all? You were terrified this morning, but now I tell you he's gone and it's like you couldn't care less."

"Sorry Bruce, I'm grateful, you know that. I just spoke to Jonathan this morning and he explained things. He's not involved with Falcone in any way. Falcone's just pissed off with him for constantly declaring his men insane and having them institutionalised."

"And you believe that?"

"Sure I do," she frowned. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Just watch him, Tamara. I can't control who you date but I don't know if he's being completely honest with you."

Tamara groaned, lying back down and switching off her lamp. "Go to bed, Bruce. You're being paranoid. It's too late for this sort of talk."

"Is this how you're going to respond to me? Denial?"

"Goodnight, Bruce," she told him firmly.

It wasn't until long after Bruce had left her room that she was able to fall back to sleep, however, her mind processing everything Bruce had told her. Who should she believe - her boyfriend, or her brother?


	10. Arrogant Asshole Celebrity

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but my OC.

**_Chapter 4_**

**_Part 1  
_**

**_Arrogant Asshole Celebrity  
_**

It was all over the news the next day. Carmine Falcone had been caught and taken in by the police. He'd been found strapped to a harbour light, his arms spread out wide. The beam of light had cast Falcone's shadows onto the clouds – in the symbol of a bat. It had been headline news: '_Bat Serves Up Crime Boss'. _Bruce had gained the attention that he'd desired, bringing Batman to the public eye. Everything was going according to plan.

* * *

Rachel Dawes tossed the day's newspaper down onto her boss' desk, a smile etched into her features.

"No way to bury it now," she said.

"Maybe so, but there's still Judge Faden."

"I've got Faden covered," Rachel assured him.

"And this 'bat' they're babbling about?"

Rachel broke eye contact with Finch for a moment, uncomfortable as she remembered the previous evening.

"Even if these guys will swear in court to being thrashed by a giant bat, we have Falcone at the scene. Drugs, prints, cargo manifests. This 'bat' has given us everything."

Finch considered this for a moment, before smiling. "Okay. Let's do it."

* * *

Tamara marched into Bruce's room, pulling the heavy curtains open and letting the afternoon sunlight stream in. She'd been sent by Alfred to get Bruce up – as he put it, Bruce was 'more likely' to listen to Tamara than poor old Alfred.

Bruce groaned, reaching an arm up to cover his face. "Bats are nocturnal."

She rolled her eyes. "Bats might be, but three o' clock is pushing it Bruce, even for a billionaire playboy such as yourself. I guess there's a price for leading a double life."

She set down the tray that she'd been carrying, which had a particularly bland breakfast on it and the day's newspaper. She gestured to the newspaper, where Batman had made the front page.

"I guess your theatrics have made an impression."

"Theatricality and deception are powerful weapons, Tamara," Bruce quoted. "This is a start."

He sat up slowly. Whilst Tamara was fully dressed and had been for a few hours now, Bruce was wearing only a pair of loose pyjama pants. Tamara's eyes grazed over the bruises littering his torso and arms.

"You planning on getting a lot of injuries like that?" she asked. Bruce shrugged. "You might want to come up with an excuse for them," she suggested. "Polo, maybe?"

He glared at her. "I'm not learning polo, Tamara."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? So you have strange injuries and a non-existent social life. People are going to start wondering what Bruce Wayne actually does with his time and money."

Bruce considered this for a moment. "You know more about this 'celebrity' scene than I do. What _does_ someone like me do?"

She shrugged, sitting down next to him on the bed. "In my experiences of dealing with men with far too much money…drive sports cars, date movie stars, buy things that aren't for sale."

Bruce looked at Tamara, nodding. He knew that everyone in the city knew his name, but it was hard for him to grow accustomed to the fact that everyone knew his sister's, too. He gulped down the glass of green drink Tamara had brought him, and she winced as she watched him do so. The stuff looked absolutely vile and was made up of mostly vegetable juice. What was wrong with orange juice? Then he clambered out of bed, standing up straight with his feet together, allowing him to fall forward to the floor and begin his daily routine of dizzyingly fast push-ups. Tamara watched him, concerned. This hadn't been what she'd been expecting from the return of her brother. Honestly, she'd prefer it if he became some sort of arrogant asshole celebrity rather than this masked vigilante. At least then she'd know that he was safe.

"Who knows, Bruce?" she sighed. "Maybe if you start pretending to have a bit of fun, you might have a little by-accident."

* * *

There was a situation at Wayne Enterprises.

"What kind of situation?" snapped Mr. Earle.

"Coast guards picked up one of our cargo ships last night," an executive explained nervously. "It was heavily damaged. The crew were all missing, and they're assumed to be dead."

"What happened?"

"The ship was carrying a prototype weapon. It was a microwave emitter, designed for desert warfare. It uses focused microwaves to vaporise the enemy's water supply. It looks like someone fired it up at sea, judging from the damage to the ship and cargo."

"What about the weapon?"

The executive shifted uneasily.

"It's missing."

* * *

"Are you seeing Jonathan tonight?"

Tamara looked up from the TV and nodded, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "Why? Are you going to talk me out of seeing him?"

Bruce shook his head. "No, not at all. Quite the opposite actually. What were you two planning on doing?"

"I'm not sure yet," she admitted. "I'm waiting until he calls."

"I have a suggestion for you."

Bruce sat down next to her on the sofa.

"What?" she asked, still suspicious. This was certainly a change from Bruce's attitude the night before.

"I took your advice to heart earlier, and I'm going down to one of the hotels in town for dinner tonight. How would you and the good doctor like to join me?"

Tamara shook her head. "I don't know Bruce, I don't think Jonathan would really be comfortable-"

"Nonsense!" interrupted Bruce. "Come on, you've got to introduce your boyfriend to your big brother one day. I'll go easy on him, I promise."

Tamara sighed, before nodding. "Okay. I'll call him."

* * *

"I'm so sorry Jonathan," she apologised down the phone. As predicted, he had not been impressed with her change of plans. "This would just mean so much to Bruce. Don't worry, he's not going to interrogate you or anything, I promise. Please, Jonathan?"

She heard him sigh and bit her lip, nervous. "Fine," he replied curtly. "Shall I meet you at the hotel?"

She allowed herself to exhale in relief. "Thank you, love. That will be fine. At around eight?"

"I'll see you then." He hung up. Tamara mentally cursed Bruce for this. If he was planning something, she'd kill him.

* * *

If it was possible, Bruce's hotel of choice had an even smarter dress code than The Fox Gardens had done. She never knew what to wear to places like that. Her final choice had been an intricately patterned shift dress with an exquisite embellished neckline.

"Tamara, would you hurry up?"

She hurried down the stairs as fast as her heels would allow, to find Bruce waiting for her at the foot of the stairs, dressed smartly in a suit. Now there was something Tamara hadn't seen for years.

"Gorgeous," she smiled, pausing to give him a peck on the cheek.

"Beautiful," he returned the compliment. He tugged on her arm gently as she made her way towards the front door, pulling her back slightly. "Tamara," he began, his voice low. "You haven't told Jonathan about…what I do, have you?"

She shook her head. "Of course not, Bruce."

"And you're not going to?"

She rolled her eyes. "_No._ Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you." They began walking back to the front door. "I'll be driving us tonight, by the way."

"You?" she repeated. "In what car?"

He pushed open the front door, revealing a stunning Lamborghini Murcielago.

"When the fuck did you get this?"

"While you were getting ready," he shrugged. "Having a touch of car jealousy, are we?"

"You have no idea," she murmured, stroking the bonnet of the car. "Where's your date?"

"We're picking them up on the way."

"_Them_?" she echoed dubiously.

"You'll see," he replied, a twinkle in his green eyes.

* * *

Perhaps Bruce had taken Tamara's advice a bit too literally. His 'date' had ended up being not just one leggy blonde, but two – both European. Tamara had thankfully sat in the front with Bruce the whole journey, but she'd still had to endure the constant sound of giggling from the back, and whenever she turned to look at the girls, they'd be sat in one another's laps.

"You sure have taste, Bruce," she muttered.

"Play along," he winked, as they pulled up at the valet station of the hotel restaurant.

"Nice car," gasped a man walking past.

"You should see my other one," drawled Bruce.

Tamara, thankfully, had spotted Jonathan, stood awkwardly by the main entrance. He relaxed slightly upon seeing Tamara, and kissed her gently.

"You didn't warn me just how expensive this place was," he worried.

Tamara rested an elegantly manicured hand on one of Jonathan's sculptured cheeks. "Oh, don't worry. Tonight is all on Bruce."

"You must be Dr Crane!" Speak of the devil.

"And you must be the famous Bruce Wayne," replied Crane curtly, shaking Bruce's outstretched hand. "Thank you for this evening," he said politely.

Bruce waved a hand, brushing Jonathan's thanks aside. "Don't mention it. Thank _you _for getting my little sister threatened by Gotham's most wanted." Despite Bruce's cheery tone, there was a dark look in his eyes that would have broken a lesser man than Crane's resolve.

"Bruce!" cried Tamara.

"No, don't worry," smiled Jonathan curtly. "Your brother's right. I should really be more careful who I cross in the future. I suppose it's a good job that someone's taken care of Mr. Falcone."

Bruce nodded in agreement. "Terribly convenient. Now, shall we get something to eat?"

* * *

Tamara had only been to this particular restaurant once, when she was very young. It had been decorated quite differently since she'd last dined there – the tables were now set around an infinity pool. They were sat at a table with Mr. Earle and some of his guests – something which Bruce had not forewarned her about.

"I'm so sorry," she mouthed across the table to Jonathan. He'd simply smiled at her and rested a cold hand on her thigh underneath the table.

Perhaps inevitably, the conversation moved onto Batman, once the meal had been finished and everyone was on their third or fourth glass of wine. Tamara was beginning to feel like she'd need at least five to cope with the insufferable idiots she was sharing a table with, not to mention Bruce's dates.

"At least he's getting something done," one woman argued.

"Bruce, help me out here," a man said, exasperated.

Bruce turned away from his blonde dates, who'd been keeping him occupied for most of the evening. At his lack of attention, they stood up and made their way to the pool. Bruce smiled, turning his attention now to the woman.

"A man who dresses up like a bat clearly has issues," he laughed.

"He's put Falcone behind bars," shrugged Tamara, leaning back in her seat. She'd decided it was time she joined in on a conversation.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow at this. "You support the Batman?" he asked.

"Well why not? It's not like the police have ever managed to do what he's doing."

"Precisely!" the woman cried.

"But now the cops want to bring him in," the man retaliated. "What does that tell you?"

"They're jealous," suggested Tamara.

Bruce's attention was once again drawn away from the conversation in the direction of the two girls. One of them had slipped off her dress and was lowering herself into the pool, whilst the other one, giggling, had begun to follow her lead. Tamara watched them, mortified. This hadn't been what she'd meant when she'd spoken to Bruce earlier that day. She'd changed her mind – masked vigilante was far better than this asshole that he'd seemingly become.

"If he's so benevolent," Bruce began, turning back to the table. "Then why does he hide his face?"

"Maybe he's protecting the people he cares about from reprisals."

Bruce nodded, considering the woman's response. Just then, the maître d' slid up to them, annoyed.

"Sir," he hissed into Bruce's ear, loud enough for the whole table to hear. "The pool is for decoration, and your friends do not have swim wear."

"Well, they're European," Bruce laughed.

Tamara cradled her head in her hands. Why was Bruce embarrassing her like this in front of Jonathan?

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Bruce pulled a cheque book out of his pocket and hastily began to scribble a cheque. "It is not a question of money," the maître d' snapped.

"No, you see," Bruce said calmly, slipping the cheque into the maître d's breast pocket. "I'm buying this hotel, and setting some new rules about the pool area."

"Bruce!" the blondes called, beckoning him over to them. He walked to the edge of the pool and they splashed him playfully, before pulling him in with them.

"Come on Jonathan, we're leaving," snapped Tamara, taking his hand and pulling him from the table with her. "Good evening," she nodded to the remaining people sat at the table. As she left, they resumed their conversation about Batman.

"I think the Batman deserves a medal."

"And a straightjacket to pin it on."

* * *

"I didn't mind, you know," Jonathan assured him.

"Bullshit," she snapped. "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over him. He's not normally like that."

"Tamara, you don't have to be ashamed of your brother," he said gently, rubbing her upper arms. "You were happy to have him back, and you're disappointed that he's not as ideal as you recalled. You don't have to try and hide him. I won't judge you."

"It's not like that!" she shouted. "I'm sorry," she murmured upon seeing his shocked face, her voice quieter. "But it's not like that, Jonathan. _He's_ not like that. I don't know what came over him. It's like he left the house and felt the need to show off. I don't even want to get in a car with him now."

"Do you need me to give you a lift home?"

Tamara sighed. "Thank you. Although, inevitably, as soon as I get home he'll try and apologise to me. I'm not in the mood for that tonight."

"Why don't you just stay with me tonight?"

Tamara looked up at him, her eyes wide. "Are you sure? I don't want to inconvenience you."

"You won't be an inconvenience. In fact, this is very convenient."

Tamara frowned. "Why?"

"Because, my dear," he smiled. "It's your first day of work experience tomorrow."

**Author's note: **Sorry this was a bit shorter than usual - the next chapter's going to be a good one though! Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed so far. It's making me really happy knowing that people are enjoying reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it and you all seem to like Tamara, too.

I've been listening to the Batman Begins soundtrack while writing this, and God, it's perfect. I think it's my favourite out of all the three films' soundtracks.

In reply to BaDWolF89, I am intending to write the next two films - I definitely have ideas for a sequel based around the time of The Dark Knight. The thing is, they're not going to be Crane/OCs - as much as I fancy Crane, the thing I love most about this story is the relationship between Tamara and Bruce. My idea for The Dark Knight fic is that Tamara - who'll be working towards her Ph.D. in psychology - will get a little obsession with the Joker and how his mind works, and get into a spot of trouble. I'm not too sure yet though, as I'm really just focussed on this story right now. I hope that didn't disappoint anyone too much!


	11. What You Do

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but my OC.

_**Chapter 4**_

_**Part 2  
**_

_**What You Do  
**_

"Where did Tamara go?"

Mr. Earle looked up at Bruce, his face not revealing any emotion, but if Bruce didn't know better, he'd say that Earle was disappointed in him. Well, fuck. Isn't this exactly what Tamara had told him to do?

"She left," he finally replied.

"To go where?"

Earle shrugged. "She left with her boyfriend. Goodnight, Bruce. It was nice seeing you." Bruce might not have been an expert in reading body language, but there was no doubt in his mind that that last sentence had been a complete lie. He nodded, raising a hand in farewell and pushing his wet hair out of his face, following his two dates out of the restaurant. Their blonde hair was dripping down their backs and they were dressed in white robes that the hotel staff had found for them. Bruce was almost disappointed that he felt not one flicker of attraction towards them. He waited patiently as the valet pulled up with his Lamborghini, and he was just about to climb into it, when he heard a familiar voice from behind him.

"Bruce?"

He turned. Rachel was stood behind him. Rachel Dawes, the only woman he'd ever loved. She was dressed up for dinner, and Bruce didn't think he'd ever seen her look quite so stunning.

"Rachel?" he gasped.

"Come on, Bruce! We have some more hotels we want you to buy!" Bruce flinched as he heard the two girls calling him from his car. Rachel glanced at them quickly and then her eyes moved back to Bruce.

"I'd heard you were back," she said cautiously. "Where were you?"

"Oh," Bruce replied vaguely. "Kind of all over, you know."

Rachel tensed slightly. "No, Bruce, I don't, and neither did a lot of people. People like your sister, who thought you were probably dead."

"Tamara didn't," Bruce said. Upon seeing Rachel's confused face, he explained, "Tamara never thought I was dead. She never gave up on me. Did you?"

Rachel shook her head. "No, I guess not. Not deep down, anyway."

They stood in an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. Bruce gestured behind him, towards the Lamborghini. "Rachel, all that…that's not me. Inside I'm…different. I'm-"

"The same great little kid that you used to be? Bruce, it's not who you are underneath, but what you do that defines you."

She walked past him – left, without another word. Once again, Bruce felt his eyes burning.

* * *

One of the weirdest sensations, Tamara believed, was waking up in a bed that wasn't your own. It always took her a few minutes to piece together the details of the previous night and remember where she was and how she'd got there. Waking up at Jonathan's was no exception. She never understood how it took people minutes to realise they weren't in their own bed. Tamara could realise instantly. The smell of the pillows, the feel of the mattress, the thickness of the duvet, the amount of light that streamed through the curtains…maybe Tamara was just more intuitive. She lay in the spacious double bed for a few minutes, clutching her forehead, trying to remember everything…that's right – she was at Jonathan's. He'd given her the bed and he had fallen asleep on his sofa. She was pissed off with Bruce. She was starting work experience that day. Fuck – she was starting work experience and all she had to wear was her expensive dress from the night before and Jonathan's shirt that she'd fallen asleep in. No, wait – they'd quickly gone back to the Manor before going to Jonathan's to fetch her some clothes. God, she was slow in the mornings.

She got up, got dressed in a smart black suit (it was her first day – she wanted to make a good impression) and used Jonathan's en-suite bathroom to wash, brush her teeth, style her hair and apply a bit of make-up. It wasn't until she looked completely presentable that she felt comfortable enough to leave the room and say good morning to Jonathan, which was odd; normally Tamara felt comfortable around the guys she dated and she didn't particularly care if they saw her looking a state, but with Jonathan it was different. She only wanted him to see the best version of herself.

He was fully dressed and pouring himself a cup of coffee when Tamara walked into the living room.

"Ah, good morning," he said, looking up with a smile. "You look very smart."

"Is it too much?" Tamara asked, looking down at her chosen outfit.

Jonathan shook his head. "No. The only person whose opinion you need to worry about is myself, and I happen to think that you look exquisite." Tamara grinned. He had a way of making her legs feel weak by paying her a compliment that if it had come from the mouth of anyone else, she would have simply rolled her eyes at it. "Coffee?"

She shook her head. "I don't drink it."

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess…orange juice?"

"Yes please."

He walked over to the fridge and pulled out a carton of orange juice, pouring Tamara a large glass of it. She took it from him carefully and smiled. She could feel herself falling in love with this man, and for once in her life, she wasn't scared by that feeling.

"Would you like anything for breakfast? I'm afraid I don't have anything too exciting. I normally just have a bowl of cereal, myself."

"No, I'm fine. I'm still pretty full from that big meal last night. I'll get something later."

His eyes looked deep into her own. They weren't covered by their glasses at that moment, and when they were like that Tamara honestly felt like he could read her every emotion.

"How are you feeling about last night?"

She laughed slightly. "Why bother asking me when you know perfectly well yourself?"

"Still upset about it, hm?"

She nodded. "I guess so. Not even upset anymore, just disappointed. I'll talk it over with him when I'm home. I'm sure he has a reasonable explanation for it."

Jonathan laid his hand over hers on the countertop. "I'm sure he does."

Tamara didn't mention it, but she was sure she heard doubt in Jonathan's voice – as though he was just agreeing with her to make her happy. She didn't see the point in questioning it though, and instead changed the topic. "So what am I going to be doing today?"

He smiled. "It's actually rather interesting for your first day. We're going to be seeing Carmine Falcone."

* * *

Rather than heading straight to Arkham, the couple instead made their way to the county jail. Tamara had never been there before, so her nerves due to coming face-to-face with the man who threatened her were doubled due to her nerves from being in such an intimidating place. Jonathan clearly knew his way around, however, and he lead Tamara down a corridor, one hand clutching his briefcase and the other on the small of her back. They were buzzed through thick steel and glass doors, where they were met by a female prison official.

"Dr Crane," she nodded. "Thanks for coming down. Why's Miss Wayne here?" she asked, gesturing at Tamara.

"Not at all," he smiled thinly. "Ah, she's shadowing me for her work experience. I do believe I made that clear when I called yesterday?"

The woman blushed. "I'm sorry Doctor, I wasn't informed of this."

He waved her apology aside. "So he cut his wrists?"

The prison official nodded gravely. "He was probably just looking for an insanity plea, but if anything happened…"

"Of course," Jonathan replied. "Better safe than sorry." Jonathan turned to Tamara. "Just try and keep quiet for today, dear. I don't need you to do anything more than observe."

Tamara was more than happy to do this. She wouldn't exactly feel comfortable talking to a man who'd threatened her life only a few nights ago. The two of them entered the room, and Tamara noticed that Falcone really didn't look much different, apart from his usual expensive suit was replaced with a prison uniform and his wrists were bandaged. Jonathan placed his briefcase down on the table and pulled out a chair for Tamara to sit down in beside him. Falcone smiled.

"Dr Crane, it's all too much, the walls are closing in, blah, blah, blah. Couple more days of this food, it'll be true," he joked. "I see you brought your girlfriend along. Was that a wise move, Doc?"

Tamara moved in her seat uncomfortably.

"Today is her first day of work experience." The two men exchanged a look, and Jonathan cleared his throat. "Tamara, I think you should perhaps wait for me outside. I shouldn't be long."

Tamara raised an eyebrow at him. "Why?"

He attempted to give her a comforting smile. "I'm just not entirely sure if your first experience of psychology should be with a man who's recently caused you a great deal of trauma."

Tamara simply stared at him for a few moments, before nodding. She saw no point in arguing with him. He was right, she did feel uncomfortable – curious, yes, but still uncomfortable. She stood up and left the room, leaving the two men in peace.

"Now what do you want?" Jonathan asked.

"We got a lot to talk about," Falcone said. "I didn't mind Miss Wayne sticking around though. Perhaps it's best if she knows what it is you're up to."

Jonathan smirked. "She'll find out, in time. Now what is it that we have to discuss?"

"Well, for a start, how you're gonna convince me to keep my mouth shut."

"About what?" he asked. "You don't know anything."

"I know you wouldn't want the cops taking a closer look at the drugs they seized."

Jonathan reacted to this, and Falcone smiled, enjoying it.

"I know about your experiments on the inmates at your nuthouse," he continued. "I don't get into business with someone without finding out their dirty secrets. Those goons you hired – I _own _the muscle in this town."

Falcone leaned forwards, looking Jonathan straight in the eye.

"So what _have _I been bringing in for you hidden in my drugs, Crane?"

"If he wanted you to know he'd have told you himself," Jonathan responded calmly.

Falcone shifted slightly in his seat. "I've been smuggling your stuff in for _months_," he hissed, "so whatever he's got planned, it's big – and I want in."

Jonathan studied him for a few seconds, considering what he'd just said, before sighing exasperatedly.

"I already know what he'll say," he murmured. "That we should kill you."

Falcone leaned forward, glaring at Jonathan with contempt.

"Even _he _can't touch me in here. Not in my town."

Jonathan shrugged as though he had lost interest in the conversation, instead focussing on his briefcase, which he popped the lock to. Inside there was only a type of breathing apparatus attached to a burlap sack that had been fashioned into a sort-of mask.

"Would you like to see my mask?" He held it up so that Falcone could see it. "I use it in my experiments. It's probably not very frightening to a guy like you, but those crazies…" He slipped the mask over his head. The only human features about it were the eye holes and stitching for a mouth, "they can't stand it."

"So when did the nut take over the nut house?" snapped Falcone.

Suddenly, he was blinded by a cloud of white smoke that shot out of Jonathan's briefcase. Falcone pushed his chair back in surprise, coughing and choking.

"They scream and cry," sneered Jonathan. What Falcone did not realise, was that the smoke was a fear toxin that Jonathan had created himself. In his eyes, tiny little lizard tongues were flicking out of the holes in Jonathan's mask. "Much as you're doing now," Jonathan continued. He towered over Falcone, who could see nothing but flaming eyes and a flaming mouth. He screamed.

* * *

About five minutes after Tamara had been sent out, the door to the interview room finally opened and Crane emerged carrying his briefcase. Screams were echoing from behind the door.

"Oh, he's not faking," Jonathan shook his head, seemingly shaken. "Not that one."

The prison official nodded gravely. Jonathan leant in a bit closer to speak to her in a hushed voice. "I'll talk to the Judge, see if I can get him moved to the secure wing at Arkham. I can't treat him here. Come on, Tamara."

"He didn't seem insane to me," Tamara said as they made their way to the exit of the building. Jonathan looked down at her, arching an eyebrow.

"You have a lot to learn, Tamara."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't do that, Jonathan."

"What?" he asked, shocked. They were stood in front of the building now, and the sunlight was surprisingly warm. Tamara found herself beginning to perspire under her thick black suit jacket and she shrugged it off. She couldn't pretend to ignore Jonathan hungrily taking in her toned arms and the small amount of cleavage her sleeveless shirt showed, his eyes hazed slightly with lust. She looked back to him.

"Talk to me like I'm stupid."

He groaned and pulled her into his chest. "I know you're not stupid, Tamara."

_'She's suspicious, Crane. You can't lie to her forever. Christ, can't you just fuck her, kill her and be done with it? Why are you dragging this damn charade on for so long? Just distract her before she asks you more questions. Do I have to do all the thinking for you? You're supposed to be the intelligent one out of the two of us…_'

As she looked up at him, mouth open to talk back, he caught her lips with his own, instantly letting his tongue dominate her own. This wasn't him kissing her, this was Scarecrow. This was far more aggressive than any other kiss they'd shared. Paranoid that she'd realise something wasn't right, Jonathan began to pull away, but to his surprise Tamara held his face between her hands, not letting him move back. He bit down hard on her bottom lip and she half gasped, half moaned.

'_What do you know, Jonny? She likes it rough! This just gets better and better._'

Jonathan finally managed to pull away from her. "I'm not sure if this is the best location for a public display of affection," he murmured into her ear, his voice huskier than usual. "Shall we get you home?"

* * *

"You." Bruce looked up from the book he was reading in the library to see Tamara stood in the doorway, dressed smartly and looking angry. When she wore heels she was almost as tall as he was, and she was actually quite intimidating. "I need to talk to you," she said, pointing her finger at him.

"Listen, Tamara, about last night-" Bruce began, standing up to try and explain his actions.

"No, you fucking listen, Bruce!" she cried, sounding tearful. "What _was_ that? Do you have any idea how much you embarrassed me? Everything you did made me so ashamed to be your sister, and normally I am so fucking proud of that, but the way you spoke to Jonathan, those whores you called your 'dates', the way you spoke about Batman, the way you flaunted our money – I have never been so embarrassed in my life, I hope you're fucking happy."

"Do you have any idea how much I embarrassed _myself_ last night, Tamara?" Bruce replied, his own voice raised too. "That wasn't me! All I was doing was following your fucking advice!"

"All I did was tell you to have a bit of fun so that people don't get suspicious! I didn't tell you to treat everyone else like shit and to buy a whole fucking hotel!"

"'Buy things that aren't for sale'! That's what you said!"

"I didn't mean it literally!"

"What do you want from me, Tamara?" he cried, his own eyes filling with tears now. Tamara tried to hold back a sob as her own tears began to spill down her cheeks. "You don't want me going out and being Batman, you don't want me to have a life – what do you fucking want?"

"I want you to be yourself! I _know _you're still my brother, I know you are, and I love you, but people aren't going to be pay attention to who you are underneath, they're going to pay attention to what you do!"

A tear slid down Bruce's cheek. "Rachel told me something pretty similar last night."

"You saw Rachel last night?"

Bruce nodded. "Yeah, as I was leaving the hotel. She doesn't want anything to do with me."

Tamara cleared the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him, holding him to her in a tight hug. "I'm sorry, Bruce," she sobbed into his chest. "I didn't mean that, I didn't, I'm so sorry. I love you and I'm so glad you're home and-"

"Shush," Bruce whispered, stroking her hair. He was crying himself, but his tears were somewhat more controlled than his sister's. "I love you too, Tammy. It was all an act, you understand that? I just don't care what the public think of me. I only care about what the people who matter think – you, Alfred, Rachel. You and Alfred know who I am, it's just Rachel I need to convince."

"You will convince her," Tamara sniffed, looking up at Bruce. "You're her oldest friend, she loves you, I could tell when I mentioned you to her last week. She's just scared that you're not the boy she used to know."

"But I am, aren't I, Tamara?" he asked. "I haven't changed that much, have I?"

Tamara shook her head. "No, Bruce. You haven't changed at all. Only, please, try and be nicer to Jonathan in the future?"

Bruce laughed, stepping back from Tamara slightly. "I'm sorry. I just wanted to let him know that I'm not the sort of brother he wants to get on the wrong side of. He seemed nice though."

"Do you mean it?"

"Of course I mean it. He makes you happy and that's all that matters to me."

* * *

There wasn't much that Batman had to see to that night. There were just a few people that he had to talk to. Firstly, Detective Gordon. He was easy enough. He knew where he lived, and he only had to wait for him to take the trash out, Batman himself hidden up in the shadows.

"Storm coming," he muttered, as soon as he knew that Gordon would hear him.

He jumped at the sound of the gruff voice, looking up to where he was crouched. He relaxed slightly when he saw who it was. "The scum's getting jumpy because you stood up to Falcone."

"It's a start. Your partner was at the docks with Falcone."

Gordon shrugged. "Well, he moonlights as a low-level enforcer."

"They were splitting the shipment in two," Batman explained to him. "Only half went to the dealers."

"Why?" Gordon asked, confused. "What about the other half?"

"Flass knows."

Gordon sighed. "He won't talk."

"He'll talk to me."

"Commissioner Loeb set up a massive task force to catch you," Gordon warned. "He thinks you're dangerous."

"What do you think?"

Gordon shrugged and looked down. "I think you're trying to help," he replied honestly. "But, I've been wrong before." When he looked back up, Batman was gone.

* * *

It was raining, and Flass was walking down a dark alley, stuffing his greedy face with falafel like the pig that he was. It was safe to say that he wasn't expecting to be yanked up from the pavement, pulled between buildings, up, up, up, until he was face-to-face with Batman, rain pouring off his cowl and holding Flass by the ankle. Flass screamed.

"Where were the other drugs going?" Batman roared.

"I don't know, I swear to God-" he whimpered.

"Swear to me!"

He dropped Flass down about three stories down on the wire, pulling it taut and then whipping him back up.

"I never knew," Flass said in a terrified whisper. "Sometimes shipments went to this guy before they went to the dealers-"

"Why?"

"There was something else in the drugs, something hidden-"

"What?" Batman interrogated him.

"I don't know – something!" he practically screamed in fear. "I never went to the drop-off point – it's in the Narrows. Cops can't go there except in force."

"Do I look like a cop?"

"No-"

Batman let him drop. He stopped him just before he hit the ground, and then let go of the wire. Flass slumped to a shaking heap on the wet ground, and Batman slipped away into the shadows. He had a bad feeling about this, but he decided that maybe he could wait a couple of weeks before investigating this. He wanted to spend time with Tamara and right now she was the most important thing in his life.

**Author's note: **I hope you're still enjoying this - it's only going to get better!


	12. Temporary Silence

**Author's note: **Sorry, this is a bit of a shorter one than usual, but we're reaching the finale of Batman Begins!

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but my OC.

**_Chapter 5_**

**_Temporary Silence_**

A few weeks passed and life remained relatively uneventful. Batman was rarely seen by the people of Gotham, only to occasionally sort out petty crimes. Bruce, as he'd decided after speaking to Flass, was more focussed on Tamara. Tamara ended up spending around half of her time with Bruce, and the other half with Jonathan. Her and Bruce would just do normal, brother and sister things – they'd go to the movies, or to sports matches, or for picnics on nice days. As for Tamara and Jonathan, things were going remarkably well and Tamara was impressing him at Arkham too. There was no longer any doubt in Tamara's mind about her feelings towards Jonathan – she had fallen in love with him, hard and fast. She wasn't too sure if he reciprocated her feelings but there was a look he got in his beautiful eyes when he made a small, caring gesture towards her – perhaps pushing a strand of her out of her eyes – that made her think that maybe he did feel the same way. Things were also heating up for the couple physically, and although they hadn't slept together yet Tamara felt a tingle of want whenever she was with him and she was sure that he did too.

* * *

October had come about and Gotham was already feeling its effects. There was a definite chill in the air and the nights started much earlier now. The main topic of conversation between Bruce and Tamara was his upcoming birthday.

"We have to start planning your party, Bruce," Tamara told him one morning over breakfast. "Your birthday's less than two weeks away."

"Do we have to have a big party?" Bruce sighed.

"I'm afraid so. It's what people will be expecting."

"How many guests?"

"A few hundred."

He coughed slightly on his juice. "I don't know a few hundred people!"

"True," Tamara shrugged. "But a few hundred people know you. There are plenty of people in this city who are so greedy for fame and money that they'll go to every party they can to make their presence known. Don't worry, I'll get Alfred to work on the invites. He always does it for my parties."

"Fine, but nothing over-the-top," Bruce instructed. "No themed parties. Not like my sixteenth." He shuddered slightly as he remembered with slight embarrassment his 'sweet 16'.

"That James Bond party was _your _idea, Bruce," laughed Tamara.

"Yes, and I regret it!"

The siblings laughed for a few minutes. Tamara loved it when it was like this – just light-hearted conversation and laughing over nothing in particular. She had to admit that for the first time in a long while, she felt completely happy with her life. She doubted anything could ruin that now.

Oh, how wrong she was.

* * *

Tamara was ready for work and just about to step out of the door and make her way to Arkham when her phone rang. This was unusual – as she didn't have that many friends, the only person who usually phoned her when she was at home was Jonathan, but as far as she was concerned, he would have no reason to call her beforehand unless there was a problem. Her heart jolted nervously when she checked her phone and saw that indeed it was Jonathan calling.

"Jonathan?" she answered. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he replied, sounding almost suspiciously happy. "I just found myself with a rather empty schedule today, and I was wondering whether you'd like to spend the day together outside of work. Perhaps at my house?"

Tamara raised a hand to brush against her collarbone as she realised what Jonathan was implying here. "Oh," was all she could manage for a moment.

"Well?"

"Sorry," she hurriedly answered, shaking her head. "I'd love that. Should I come over now?"

"If you'd like." He hung up and a flood of questions and doubts instantly raced into Tamara's mind. Normally, she'd never consider sleeping with a man to be a big deal, but for some reason, with Jonathan the thought of it almost scared her. She was so determined for their relationship to be perfect and she didn't want to slip up or to change his judgement of her.

* * *

'_So, you're gonna fuck her, and then you're gonna kill her, right Crane?_'

"No," Jonathan murmured as he poured two glasses of wine. "I'm not going to kill her."

He could practically feel Scarecrow rolling his eyes. '_So when _are _you going to kill her_?'

"Hopefully, never."

'_You weren't supposed to get feelings for the girl, Crane._'

Jonathan shrugged, straightening his tie in the mirror. "Accidents happen."

The two conflicting personalities were interrupted by the doorbell ringing. Jonathan cleared his throat and wiped his sweaty palms against his trousers. Was he actually nervous? This wasn't like him. He opened the door to see Tamara stood before him, looking beautiful, as usual. Jonathan wasn't sure what it was about her. He'd never had 'feelings' for a woman in his life, nor had he wanted to – but there was something about Tamara Wayne that made his heart pound faster and sometimes made him doubt whether all the shit that he'd gotten into was worth it if it would lead to him losing her eventually.

"Hey, baby," she said softly. He pulled her into the apartment and shut the door behind her, pushing her gently up against it. He toyed with her plump lower lip with her thumb, all thoughts of a civil glass of wine beforehand had now gone straight out of his mind. She kissed his thumb softly, then reached up to pull his glasses off his face. She slipped them carefully into his jacket pocket and then stood up onto her tiptoes to kiss him gently. Slowly the kiss became more passionate, Jonathan's fingers digging hard into Tamara's hips and her own hands tugging slightly at his hair. She pulled away from the kiss and giggled slightly.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow, suddenly self-conscious. "What?"

"Can we move to the bedroom?" she asked. "The door handle keeps digging into my back."

Jonathan laughed, his warm breath landing against Tamara's neck and sending chills down her spine. "Come here then," he whispered into her ear, wrapping his arms under her legs and picking her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist to support herself and gasped slightly. "Well I wasn't expecting this from you," she teased, continuing to kiss him as he backed into his bedroom.

"Can you stop talking?" he murmured, as he lowered her down on to the bed and climbed between her legs. "It makes it very difficult for me to kiss you."

He kissed her again, placing one hand lightly on the curve of her waist. Tamara met his mouth firmly – she needed this, she wanted this – and her hands closed over Jonathan's. As their tongues met Tamara shifted to return the kiss more fully, and in the silence of his bedroom the noise of the rustle of the sheets as she moved seemed far louder than it really was.

Jonathan slid his hand up and Tamara arched her breast into it, and for the first time in years, Jonathan felt like a teenager again, like a kid in high school, losing his virginity to that pretty but nervous red-head who had the locker next to his, and as their clothing was shed and he finally slid himself into Tamara, for the first time he could remember, the voice silenced. There was no one there but Jonathan and Tamara. They were alone, they were together, they were one – and it was glorious.

* * *

Finch made his way down the alleys of crates within the warehouse at the docks, flanked by two guards. He gestured at one right at the very end of a corridor.

"This is the one I'm talking about."

The guard frowned. "What's your problem with it?"

"It shouldn't exist," Finch snapped. "This ship left Singapore with two hundred and forty six containers, but arrived with two hundred and forty seven. I'm guessing there's something I'm not supposed to find in there."

"Listen, counsellor," the guard began to explain. "We don't wanna know what's in Mr Falcone's crate."

"Things are working a little differently now," Finch smiled tightly. "Open it up."

The guard sighed and rolled his eyes, but did as he was told. Finch stepped inside the crate, shining his torch inside to try and light up the murky darkness. Inside was something that he couldn't quite make out – all he could tell was that it was large, with the words 'Wayne Enterprises' emblazoned on the side.

"What the hell is this?" he asked.

The guard did not answer. Instead, he shot Mr. Finch in the back of the head.

* * *

Jonathan's phone wouldn't stop ringing, and he'd ignored it twice now.

Tamara rested her head on his bare chest and sighed. "Can't you just tell them you're busy?" she asked, kissing his skin gently.

He stroked her shoulder with one hand, reaching to get his phone with the other. "It must be important if they're this persistent," he said. "Hello?"

Tamara looked up at his face as he answered his phone, struggling to believe that she'd just slept with such an attractive man – multiple times. She frowned as his face – which up until that point had been the most carefree she'd ever seen him – fell and his tone was instantly serious. The conversation was short and blunt, and he hung up looking irritated.

"I have to go," he told her.

"Why?"

"I have a job, Tamara," he said, pushing her off him as he stood up and searched for his discarded clothing. Tamara watched him get dressed, sitting up in bed, not bothering to cover herself with the sheets.

"But what's so urgent that you have to go this late?"

He threw her a look. "Perhaps one day when you mature enough to gain a career, you'll understand that some things cannot be avoided, and this is one of those things. Could you cover yourself up? This isn't a brothel."

Tamara felt herself blush furiously as she pulled the sheets up to her chin, her eyes prickling with tears at his words. She couldn't believe he'd been so loving towards her just a few minutes ago.

"I'm twenty-one, Jonathan," she said. "You wouldn't have had a job at my age either. Would you rather I went and took a job that requires no qualifications or that I actually worked towards a career that I know I'll love?"

"You're completely missing my point," he snapped, hastily pulling on his jacket. "Now, will you get dressed? I have to go."

She shrugged and lay back down. "It's fine, I'll just stay here tonight."

Jonathan pursed his lips, looking like he was trying very hard not to shout at her. "Not tonight. I don't know how late I'll be back."

"Does it matter? I'll just go to sleep."

He walked across the room towards her and snatched the sheets out of her hands, exposing her. He then picked her underwear and dress up off the floor and tossed them into her lap.

"Get dressed," he ordered.

She looked up at him, shaking slightly, her eyes filled with tears. She didn't want to admit it, but Jonathan was actually starting to scare her.

When he next spoke, his voice was slightly softer. "Please, Tamara, just get dressed."

She nodded, frantically slipping into her underwear. Jonathan helped her find the rest of her discarded clothing and jewellery and he fastened the zip at the back of her dress for her, his hands lingering for longer than necessary on her waist. The Jonathan she knew had returned, but it didn't mean she'd just forget the one she'd seen a glimpse of. It had been like there were two of him – as though he'd had two different personalities, almost.

"I think your work is changing you," she admitted to him as she pulled on her jacket.

"What do you mean?"

She shook her head slightly. "I never thought you'd speak to me like that. Ever." She left.

* * *

Bruce had finally decided that he'd put off visiting the drop-off point in the Narrows for long enough. Since Tamara was out, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to make a quick trip down there as Batman. He wouldn't stay for long – not long enough to get hurt, anyway. The apartment was easy enough for him to find, and luckily, it was deserted too. There was nothing particularly out-of-the-ordinary about it – except for a pile of stuffed toys on an armchair. He crouched down to take a look at them, ripping open the lining of one of the teddies. Before he was able to fully look however, he heard the apartment door open and hastily hid himself in the shadows. Three men entered the room. Two of them he'd never seen before, but the man holding a torch – clearly the ringleader – was the last man he wanted to see here – but also the man he'd been expecting to see. It was Crane. It was his sister's boyfriend.

Crane looked over the toys for a few moments, before muttering in a low voice, "Get rid of all traces."

"Better torch the whole place," one of his men told him.

"Alright," Crane agreed, but he was distracted. He'd noticed the open window, through which rain was spilling into the dank apartment. The two men he came with began to pour petrol and alcohol over every available surface in the apartment, but Crane was focussed on just the open window. Bruce mentally cursed himself – Crane was too intelligent for his own good. He'd soon work out what the open window meant, meaning that Bruce had no choice but to fight his way out of there.

His first strike was an easy one – one of the men went to the bathroom to relieve himself. Batman slammed his head against the bathroom mirror before he had a chance to react. Of course, Crane and the remaining man heard the sound of the glass shattering. The man looked towards the bathroom, lighting the Zippo lighter in his hand. He wasn't quick enough, however – Batman smashed his arm to the ground. Of course, what Batman wasn't prepared for, was Scarecrow – or rather, Crane wearing his mask with a way to spray his fear toxin from his wrist. He coughed and choked against the smoke of the toxin, trying with all his might to ignore the swarm of bats he'd just seen flash before his eyes.

"Having trouble?" Crane growled. Batman stumbled backwards, falling to the floor. He could have sworn that he'd just seen a bat crawl out of Crane's mouth. "Take a seat," he teased. "Have a drink." He emptied what was left of the bottle of alcohol over Batman. His parents. His parents dying. That was what he could see.

"You look like a man who takes himself too seriously," Crane continued. Bats were flying out of his face – how the fuck was that possible? Crane lit his own lighter casually. "Do you want my opinion? You need to lighten up." He threw the lighter at Batman. Batman went up in flames. He fell out of the window, his body in searing agony, the heat almost unbearable. The air that rushed by him as he fell was like light relief to the pain he was currently suffering. He landed on the roof of a car and rolled off, falling to the ground with a grunt. He desperately rolled around on the floor, using the puddles to extinguish his still-burning cape. Still smouldering slightly, he staggered to his feet and lurched into a nearby alley. He fired his grapple gun at an enclosed roof and used it to pull himself up onto the roof, where he lay, allowing the pounding rain to sooth his skin. He fumbled with his belt until he found the small phone he carried with him.

"Alfred," he gasped down the phone. "Alfred." His voice was hoarse, almost unrecognisable, but all he could think about was the night he watched his parents die. Alfred would come for him soon. He would be okay. Alfred would come for him soon. He would be okay. Alfred would come for him soon…He would be okay…Tamara would be okay…Rachel would be okay.

**Author's note: **Reviews are welcome. Sorry I was a bit late with this one!


	13. Bad News

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but my OC.

**_Chapter Six_**

**_Part 1  
_**

**_Bad News  
_**

The morning when Tamara thought she'd lost her brother again was the first time she'd been woken up by Alfred in over three years. She knew then that something was wrong. She sat bolt upright in bed and as soon as she saw the grave look on Alfred's face she knew that something bad had happened.

"What's happened? What's wrong? It's Bruce, isn't it?"

Alfred raised his hands to quieten Tamara. "I'm sorry, Miss Wayne," he apologised. "I would have told you when I got in last night but I didn't want to wake you."

"When you got in?" she questioned, getting out of bed and hurriedly wrapping her robe around her, as she was dressed only in thin pyjamas. "What do you mean? When did you go out?"

"Miss Wayne," he began cautiously. "I received a call off your brother last night. He was in a bit of state. I haven't been able to get much out of him, other than it seems his blood has been poisoned somehow."

"Poisoned? What? How?"

"I don't know," Alfred shook his head. "He's asleep right now."

"How is he?"

Alfred sighed and looked uncomfortable. "He's getting worse," he admitted.

"Well call a fucking doctor then!" Tamara cried, hurrying out of her room and jogging down the corridor to Bruce's bedroom. She never swore in front of Alfred, but right now she was terrified and she wasn't thinking clearly.

Alfred caught up with her before she entered Bruce's room and blocked the doorway.

"I don't think it's wise for you to see him like this, Miss Wayne," he said.

"Call a doctor, Alfred," Tamara repeated. "I just got my brother back, I am _not _losing him again goddammit!"

"And how would I explain his condition to a doctor, Miss Wayne?" Alfred asked. "How would I tell him about Batman?"

At this, Tamara fell silent.

"Exactly." Alfred placed a kind hand on her shoulder. "I've called Mr. Fox."

"Lucius Fox?"

Alfred nodded. "He'll know what to do."

* * *

The two days during which Bruce was unconscious were close to unbearable. Tamara took time out of work experience, and aside from her initial phone call to Jonathan to tell him she wouldn't be in work for a few days, she hadn't spoken to him once. She knew things were still awkward between them after the argument but she wasn't in the right frame of mind to set things straight right then. To make matters worse, she still had to organise Bruce's party – all of Gotham's rich and famous had been invited and there was no way she could cancel on such short notice. Thankfully, the day he came to was the day of his twenty-eighth birthday. As they had been doing during the hours in which Bruce had been unconscious, Tamara and Alfred were both sat by his bedside when he finally opened his eyes. He was a state – shivering slightly and red-eyed.

"How long did I sleep?" he croaked hoarsely.

"Two days," Alfred told him.

"Happy birthday, Bruce," Tamara smiled weakly. "You're twenty-eight."

As soon as Tamara spoke, Bruce's eyes widened and he grabbed onto her wrist desperately. "Tamara – Tamara I have to tell you – it was Cr – it was–"

"Shush," Tamara soothed him. "Calm down, Bruce. What was it that poisoned you?"

He sighed, catching his breath. "It was some kind of gas," he explained slowly. "I only breathed in the slightest amount."

Tamara shuddered. "God, I hate to think what would have happened if you'd taken in more than that."

"I've felt these sort of effects before," Bruce continued. "But this time the effects were far more potent. It was some kind of weaponised hallucinogen, administered in aerosol form."

"Who did this to you?" Tamara asked slowly, shaking her head.

"That's what I need to talk to you about, Tamara-"

Bruce was interrupted once more by the arrival of Mr. Fox.

"You have been hanging out in the wrong clubs, Mr. Wayne," he smirked.

Bruce looked at Alfred and Tamara, confused by Fox's presence.

"I called Mr. Fox when your condition worsened after the first day," Alfred explained.

"I analysed your blood to isolate the receptor compounds and the protein-based catalyst," Fox stated matter-of-factly.

"Am I meant to understand any of that?"

Fox laughed slightly. "Not at all. I just wanted you to know how hard it was. The bottom line is, I synthesised an antidote."

Bruce took interest in this. "Could you make more?"

Fox raised an eyebrow. "You planning on gassing yourself again, Mr. Wayne?"

"Well, you know how it is, Mr. Fox – you're out at night, looking for kicks, someone's passing around weaponised hallucinogens…"

This issued a small laugh out of everyone in the room, more out of relief that Bruce had got his sense of humour back than anything.

"I'll bring what I have," Fox said. "The antidote should inoculate you for now. Alfred, Tamara, always a pleasure."

"Goodbye, Mr. Fox," smiled Tamara.

"Lucius," Alfred nodded.

Tamara turned back to Bruce. "What did you say you needed to talk to me about, Bruce?"

Before he could answer, the doorbell rang.

"I'll get it," Alfred muttered, beginning to stand up.

"No, you sit down," Tamara said, standing up herself and pushing Alfred down gently. "You've been on your feet constantly these past few days. Have a rest."

"But Tamara, I really need to talk to you-"

"Later, Bruce, okay?" she smiled, before leaving the room and making her way downstairs. She crossed the entrance hall and opened the large front doors, surprised to find herself face-to-face with Rachel. Deep down, part of her had been hoping it would have been Jonathan, but she supposed he had no reason to make the journey to the Palisades.

"Oh, Rachel," she murmured, surprised. "Can I help you?"

Rachel nodded. "It's Bruce's birthday today. Is he here?"

"He's in bed. He's not been very well recently."

Rachel's face dropped slightly. "Will he be okay?"

Tamara smiled and nodded. "Yeah, he's feeling a lot better today. Do you want to come in?"

Rachel considered it for a moment, then shook her head. "No, I have to get back to work. I just wanted to leave this."

She pulled a small box out of her pocket which Tamara took off her.

"Thanks, I'll give it to Bruce."

They were just saying their goodbyes and Tamara was shutting the door when Bruce arrived behind Tamara, now wrapped in a blue robe and looking slightly more awake and healthy.

"Rachel?"

"Gosh, you do look ill," she worried.

"Just been burning the candle at both ends," Bruce shrugged, putting on his usual playboy front. "It is my birthday, after all."  
Tamara resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Considering how badly he wanted this woman, he was going completely the wrong way about getting her.

"I know," Rachel nodded curtly. "I'm sorry I can't come tonight." She didn't sound sorry at all. "I was just dropping off your present," she gestured to the box in Tamara's hand.

Tamara handed it to Bruce and took this as her cue to excuse herself and give the couple their privacy – of course, she only went around the corner, so she could still hear every word of their conversation.

"You've got better plans?" Bruce asked.

"My boss has been missing for two days," she replied bluntly. "In this town it means I should probably start by looking at the bottom of the river."  
"Rachel-" began Bruce. _Good Bruce_, thought Tamara. _Offer to be her shoulder to cry on, show a little sensitivity for fuck's sake!_

They were interrupted by Rachel's phone ringing. "Excuse me," she muttered as she pulled it out of her bag. "Rachel Dawes. Who authorised that?" she cried. "Get Crane down there right now. Don't take no for an answer! Call Dr Lehmann, tell him we need our own assessment on the judge's desk by morning."

Tamara's heart skipped a beat at the mention of Jonathan's name.

"What's wrong?" Bruce asked, clearly just as concerned as Tamara was.

"It's Falcone. Dr Crane moved him to Arkham Asylum on suicide watch."

"You're going to Arkham now? It's in the Narrows, Rachel." Tamara raised an eyebrow at how much more concern her brother showed for Rachel going to Arkham when Tamara went there every day.

"You enjoy your party, Bruce," she dismissed him. "Some of us have work to do."

"You be careful."

"Happy birthday."

The door shut and Tamara walked back into Bruce's view, making him jump slightly.

"I was there that day," she said. "The day Jonathan interviewed Falcone and asked to have him moved to Arkham."

Bruce looked concerned. "Did he seem insane? Falcone?"

Tamara bit her lip and shook her head slowly. "Not to me. Then again, what do I know? I only spoke to him briefly before Jonathan sent me out, anyway. He didn't want me getting upset by it. When Jonathan left, Falcone was pretty shook up. I could hear him screaming."

Bruce groaned in frustration, pushing his hands through his dirty brown hair. "Did none of this seem suspicious to you, Tamara?"

"No," she frowned. "Should it have done?"

"Jonathan's bad news, Tamara."

"Stop it, Bruce. Not now."

"HE'S THE ONE WHO DID THIS TO ME!" Bruce yelled. "He's the one who attacked me."

Tamara shook her head furiously, flinching at his raised voice. "You probably imagined it Bruce, it could have been anyone, you were hallucinating…"

"No, Tamara, it was Jonathan. It was your boyfriend. I went to an apartment in the Narrows which is used as a drop-off point for half of the drugs that Falcone has been shipping in and Jonathan came in with two other men. He told them to get rid of all the evidence so they began to torch the place. I took the two men down but Crane caught me by surprise by spraying me with the hallucinogen. He set me on fire and I fell out of a window into the streets. That's the truth, Tamara. You know I would never lie to you."

Tamara continued to shake her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. "It can't be true," she whispered. "It's not true, it must have been someone else, someone who looked like him."

"It was Jonathan, Tamara," Bruce said more gently, gripping her upper arms tightly. "Were you with him at around eleven PM that night?" Tamara didn't answer. "Tamara, were you with him?"

She shook her head slowly. "No."

"Where were you?"

"At home."

"Why did you come home? I thought you were spending the night?"

"He got a phone call at about nine," she whispered. "He said it was urgent and to do with work and we argued and he left and," she began to sob. "Oh my God this can't be happening."

"I'm sorry," Bruce said genuinely, hugging her. She didn't hug him back, just stood embraced in his arms, crying. "I know that you liked him a lot."

She pushed away from Bruce, her face red and angry. "No, Bruce, I love him!" she cried. "I've never felt this way about anyone before." She paused for a moment, her face determined. "I have to go to Arkham."

"No," Bruce ordered sternly. "You have to stay here and play host for my party while _I _go to Arkham."

"That's not fair! He's my boyfriend, Bruce, I need to see him!"

"It might not be safe for you! Just stay here until I get back, okay?"

"No."

"Tamara."

"No, Bruce."

"Tamara, please, just stay here. I'll take you to Arkham later this evening if you do. Please?"

Tamara considered this for a moment before she finally nodded. "Okay, fine. Just be careful, and don't hurt Jonathan."

* * *

Tamara had actually been looking forward to Bruce's birthday party. She'd put a lot of effort into making sure everything was perfect and she'd even gone out to buy a new dress, which certainly wasn't cheap, even by her standards.

"But Master Wayne, the guests will be arriving," she could hear Alfred arguing with Bruce outside of her bedroom as she applied the finishing touches to her make-up.

"Keep them happy until I arrive. Tell them that joke you know."

By the time Tamara emerged from her room, Bruce was gone and Alfred looked incredibly exasperated, stood amongst the tables of food and the party decorations that had been set up earlier. The string quartet were sat in one corner, beginning to set up.

"And I suppose you know where he's off to, Miss Wayne?"

Tamara nodded. "I do, and I'm just as unhappy about it as you are Alfred, but you know there's nothing we can do when he's in a mood like this."

* * *

Bruce made his way to the study and hit four notes on the piano – this opened the hidden door behind the bookcase, which revealed a stone staircase – this staircase led to the wrought iron one he had seen in the caves that day and was a far easier way to access the caves beneath the Manor. He stepped onto the dumb waiter and pulled a lever to release the lift, and he plummeted down through the centre of the spiral staircase. The lift hit the bottom with an awful rattle, but the only thing Bruce was after was his Batsuit. This was a matter of saving not only Rachel, but Tamara too – the two women that he cared for the most. This was personal now.

* * *

"Having fun?"

Fox looked up from his desk to see Mr. Earle stood over him. He frowned; it was getting late, and as it was, Earle never ventured down into Applied Sciences anyway.

"Bill? Now, what's a big shot like you doing in a place like this?"

"I need some information." Of course – it was never going to be a social visit, now, was it? "The Wayne Enterprise 47-B, 1-ME. "

"1-ME," Fox nodded thoughtfully. "It's a microwave emitter. It was designed to vaporise an enemy's water supply. Rumour was they tested dispersing water-based chemical agents into the air, but isn't that illegal?"

"I want all the information on the development of this project – all data, files, back-up disks – on my desk right away."

Fox frowned. "Did you lose one?"

"I'm merging your department with Archives, and I'm firing you." He smiled patronisingly. "Didn't you get the memo?"

* * *

"Miss Dawes is here, Dr Crane," a voice buzzed over Crane's intercom.

He gritted his teeth in annoyance. "Thank you," he replied. Why did Dawes have to show up now, of all times? This was the night that everything was meant to kick off. He didn't want to have to use the toxin on her, but if he couldn't get rid of her he might be faced with no other choice. Just as he was about to make his way down to the entrance hall to meet Rachel, his phone went off. Sighing in exasperation, he pulled it out of his pocket. The caller ID showed that it was Tamara calling him. Now? Of all times? He didn't have it in him to ignore her call, anyway.

"Yes?"

"Hey, baby." She sounded a little too happy. It was somewhat forced.

"Is something wrong?"

"No!" she cried. "No, not at all." Well, that was enough to convince him that she was lying. "I was just wondering if you're going to be coming to Bruce's birthday party tonight. It's only just started, but it would be nice for me to have some company."

He sighed, running a hand over his face. "I can't Tamara, I'm sorry. I'm very busy tonight."

"Is Rachel there yet?"

He froze. "What?"

"Rachel Dawes. She was at my house earlier today, but she had to leave to go to Arkham. So is she there?"

"She's just arrived," he answered honestly.

"Oh, I'd better let you get on then," she said. She was silent for a while and for a moment Jonathan thought she'd hung up on him. Then he heard a sharp intake of breath and Tamara gasped, "I'm coming down there."

Jonathan's stomach flipped nervously. She couldn't come here, it wasn't safe for her. "No, Tamara," he said a little too hastily.

"I don't care," she replied. "I'm coming. I'll see you later."

Jonathan hissed under his breath. She had hung up that time. She couldn't get caught up in all of this. He made a quick phone call, knowing that he had to hurry. Rachel would get suspicious if he kept her waiting any longer.

"Yes, boss?"

Up until meeting some of the thugs that Jonathan had hired, he'd never believed that someone could actually _sound _stupid. Some of these men definitely could.

"You know Tamara Wayne?"

"Well, duh," the man laughed. "Everyone knows her, boss. Ain't you fuckin' her?"

Jonathan ignored the crude question. "She's going to show up at the Asylum at some point this evening. When she gets here, take her to my house. Don't bother getting her to go quietly, it won't do us any favours. Just don't hurt her, and get her to my house, and make sure she doesn't attract any unwelcome attention. Understood?"

"Sure, boss."

Jonathan hung up and bit the inside of his cheek nervously. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if she got caught up in this mess. He was going to protect her through all of it.

**Author's note: **Hope you're still enjoying it. We've reached the finale of Batman Begins now so it's about to get really exciting! Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far, it means a lot :)


	14. Scarecrow

**Author's note: **Sorry this one took me so long. It's been a combination of a busier than usual social life, writer's block, and a mild case of RSI from all the frantic typing I've been doing recently. I hope it's worth the wait.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but my OC.

_**Chapter 6**_

_**Part 2**_

_**Scarecrow**_

"Scarecrow," muttered Falcone. Over, and over again. His eyes were glazed and unfocused. He was just a shell of the man that he once was. Rachel watched Falcone through the glass with narrowed eyes.

"Miss Dawes, there's nothing to add to the report I filed with the judge."

"Well, I have questions to do with your report," she snapped. She turned her attention back to Falcone. "Such as, is it unusual for a fifty-eight year-old man with no history of mental illness to have a complete psychotic breakdown?"

"Yes," Crane nodded honestly. "But, this is a mental asylum for the criminally insane. The unusual is usual here."

"But isn't it convenient for Falcone to suddenly develop these symptoms when he's about to be indicted?"

"There's nothing convenient about his symptoms, Miss Dawes," he shot her a sympathetic smile. "Look, I doubt we're even supposed to be having this conversation, but off the record, we're not talking about a few easily-manufactured eccentricities."

He turned to look at Falcone, strapped down to the bed in his cell, still mumbling 'scarecrow' repetitively.

"What's 'scarecrow'?"

"Patients suffering delusional episodes often focus their paranoia onto an external tormentor, usually one conforming to the Jungian archetypes," he shrugged. "In this case, a scarecrow."

Rachel continued to stare at Falcone, clearly suspicious.

"He's drugged," she finally concluded.

Jonathan nodded. "Psychopharmacology is my primary field – I'm a strong advocate." He too turned to study Falcone. "Outside, he was a giant. In here, only the mind can grant you power."

"You enjoy the reversal." It was a statement, not a question.

Jonathan shrugged once more, smiling amiably. "I respect the mind's power over the body. It's why I do what I do."

"And I do what I do to put scum like Falcone behind bars, not in therapy. I want my own psychiatric consultant to have full access to Falcone, including blood-work to find out _exactly _what you have him on."

* * *

Tamara didn't bother changing out of her party clothes. She just pulled a coat on over her thin dress and left, not bothering to tell anybody that she'd gone. She'd never driven so fast in her life but her only concern was getting to Arkham, whether she got there in one piece or not.

She felt slightly comforted when she pulled into the Asylum car park and saw two men waiting on the steps. Jonathan had probably sent a couple of men to escort her in safely. Even if it was him who'd hurt Bruce, she didn't think he'd ever hurt her. She parked quickly and hurried up to the steps of the asylum as quickly as her Jimmy Choo heels would allow her.

One of the men let out a low wolf whistle. "Woah, Miss Wayne, looking pretty fancy."

"I've just come from a party," she explained.

The same man nodded, looking her up and down. Tamara shuffled on the spot uncomfortably. "Can I go in and talk to Jonathan now?"

He shook his head. "Sorry ma'am, no can do. He asked us to take you back to his place to wait for him there."

"Bullshit."

The other man, who up until now had remained silent, turned his thick meaty head to glare at her. "Hey, we're not happy about it either," he spat in a heavy New York accent. "Now come with us girly, don't make our shitty jobs harder than they already are." He laid a heavy hand on her upper arm which she threw off hastily.

"Don't touch me!" she cried. "I want to talk to Jonathan."

"Listen to me, he's busy," spat the New Yorker. "Now come with us." They grabbed an arm each and began to manoeuvre her down the steps and towards a large four-by-four parked in one corner of the car park.

"Let me talk to Jonathan!" she shouted, trying to pull her arms free from their strong grasps.

They stopped in front of the car, and the more threatening of the two men – the one with the accent – turned to face Tamara, taking her face in one of his hands.

"These are Crane's orders, you spoilt little bitch," he hissed. "You don't have to fucking believe us, but either way, you're not getting out of this, so why don't you just make it easier for us all and play along?"

"I want proof," Tamara stammered, trying to make herself sound brave, when inside, she was terrified. This man could kill her if he wanted to, easily.

He rolled his eyes and turned to his colleague. "Carl, you spoke to the boss earlier, what did he say to you?"

Carl sighed and his features screwed up slightly, like recalling a previous phone conversation was a very difficult task for him to do.

"Uh…he said…when Miss Wayne gets to Arkham, we gotta take her to the Doc's house. She ain't gonna go quietly…don't hurt her…don't let her attract attention."

"That was it?"

Carl nodded proudly. "That was it."

The nameless man turned back to Tamara, still pinching her face between his fat fingers that smelt strongly of cigarette smoke. "Now do you believe us?"

Tamara sighed. She had to be honest, she was inclined to believe them – and even if they weren't telling the truth, what good was fighting going to do her? She nodded slowly.

"Good. Now get in the fucking car."

* * *

Crane stepped into the elevator, placing his key into the panel to shut the doors after himself and Rachel. He tried not to allow his mind to wander and think about Tamara, but he was concerned for her safety. Carl and Sebastian weren't exactly the easiest men to get along with, especially Sebastian. He knew that they wouldn't hurt her, but even the idea of her being frightened unsettled him – he didn't want to see Tamara frightened or scared unless he was the one scaring her and feeding off her fear. He had to admit, the idea of using his fear toxin on her completely aroused him, and it was no longer just Scarecrow putting ideas like that in his head. Even the slightly more stable mind of Dr Jonathan Crane couldn't help but think how delicious Tamara would look writhing in fear beneath him.

"First thing tomorrow, then," he said to Rachel, hoping to clear up their meeting.

"Tonight," she corrected him. "I've already paged Dr Lehmann at County General."

Crane turned the elevator key, realising things were about to get slightly more difficult. "As you wish," he murmured. The elevator continued to descend and the doors eventually opened onto a deserted wing of the Asylum. It was a long, decrepit corridor that was clearly disused, the only sound was the faint noise of water dripping somewhere in the distance. Jonathan stepped out of the elevator and Rachel followed him, clearly perturbed. She followed him down the corridor into a vast room where tables stretched off into the room, covered in bags of powder, scales and aluminium barrels. Dozens of inmates were working with the powder, refining it – some of them looked up, curious as to why their work was being disrupted.

"This is where we make the medicine," Jonathan informed her. "Perhaps you should have some. Clear your head." He turned back to Rachel, but she was gone. He smiled slightly – this wasn't a problem, he'd find her. She couldn't have gone far. He made his way back out into the corridor, which she was sure enough racing down, stumbling into the elevator. She could hit all the buttons she liked and even floor the alarm but they would all be dead without the key – the key which Crane had in his pocket. He rolled his eyes as he jerked his mask on; he had been hoping that it wouldn't come to this but the infuriating woman was leaving him with no alternative.

He slid open the elevator doors and reached out for her terrified form. "Boo," he drawled.

A small puff of gas sprayed from his sleeve and Rachel recoiled from him, coughing and choking. When she looked up at him, his eyes were flaming and she let out a piercing scream before collapsing in a shuddering heap.

Crane called over some of his men to carry her into the nearby room where they lay her on an empty table. The inmates – all of them clearly drugged – just stared at the scene before them blankly, not responding. Crane turned her reluctant face to look up at his mask and she began to gulp frantic, panicked breaths.

"Who knows you're here?" he growled. She shook her head hurriedly. "WHO KNOWS?" he roared.

She simply pulled away, burying her head into her arms. Just then, every light in the room went out. Everyone in the room looked around, unnerved, but Crane on the other hand simply pulled off his mask and ran a hand through his unruly hair, fascinated.

"He's here," he murmured.

"Who?"

"The Batman."

Some of the men exchanged nervous glances.

"What do we do?" one asked Crane.

"What anyone does when a prowler comes around," Crane shot the man a look. "Call the police."

"You want the cops here?" another man asked incredulously.

"At this point, they're irrelevant," he shrugged. "But the Batman…he has a talent for disruption. Force him outside, the police will take him down." He gestured to the inmates. "Get them out of here."

"What about her?" a man indicated Rachel.

"She's gone. I gave her a concentrated dose – the mind can only take so much. Now, if you don't mind…I have a girlfriend to go and see."

* * *

Thankfully for Jonathan, he knew of a back exit to the Asylum, meaning he'd be able to sneak out and avoid both Batman and the police. He felt no guilt for leaving his men at the mercy of the giant bat, surely they knew of the danger they'd be facing when they agreed to work for him anyway?

He'd just made his way outside when a shadow descended in front of him.

"Not so fast, Crane," growled Batman. Crane automatically raised his arm, prepared to hit him with the toxin, but Batman was too quick for him, shoving his arm aside. "Where are you going?" he asked.

"You think I'm going to tell you that?"

"Tell me and I'll consider letting you go. Are you going to see Tamara Wayne?"

Crane's calm front dropped momentarily. "How…how did you know?"

"I know more than you think," Batman responded. "Are you?"

Crane nodded. "Yes, I am."

"And is she safe?"

"She's waiting for me at my house. I gave my men specific instructions not to hurt her."

Batman nodded, satisfied. "Then go – but if you so much as touch her, I'll know and I'll come back for you. That's a promise."

* * *

"Is this really necessary?" Tamara muttered as the taller of the two men, whose name she'd discovered was Sebastian, tied her wrists together behind the dining chair that she was sat in.

"We need to make sure you don't escape."

"I'm not going to escape."

"Well, you're definitely not now," he agreed, pulling the ropes that bound her, checking they were tight.

"Is that okay?" he asked. "Not cutting off your circulation or anything?"

"Oh, this is just peachy," she smiled sardonically.

"Watch it," he warned, pointing a finger at her. "Come on Carl, let's go."

"You're just gonna leave me here?"

"It's not like you're gonna be goin' anywhere," chuckled Carl.

They left her sat in the middle of Jonathan's living room, laughing darkly to themselves as they went. They hadn't even bothered to leave a light on for her so the only light in the room was coming from a streetlamp outside. She sighed, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. This was fucking brilliant. She should have done as Bruce said and stayed at the party. She wondered what was happening at Arkham. It was all very well saying that Jonathan was coming to see her, but what if Batman got to him first? She shuddered to think what would happen to him if that was the case. He'd be locked up in Blackgate for sure – or Arkham, she considered dryly. How ironic would it be if the Asylum's best doctor became its worst patient?

Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a key in the door. She listened keenly as she heard it shut and then the sound of soft footsteps making their way into the living room. She squinted to shield her eyes from the sudden brightness as the light in the room was turned on. She opened them slowly to see Jonathan stood in the doorway, looking at her with an unreadable expression on his face.

"I think we need to talk," she said.

"Oh, yes," he nodded, pulling out a chair similar to the one Tamara was sat on and sitting down opposite her.

"Can you untie me first?"

He shook his head. "No, not yet. I don't want you running off now, do I?"

Something about him was different. His voice sounded slightly higher-pitched, more unhinged.

"What's going on, Jonathan?"

He laughed softly. "I think a more appropriate question would be, what isn't going on right now?"

"Jonathan, just explain to me. Explain why you had two of your men take me here and tie me to a fucking chair."

He slid his glasses off and rested them on the coffee table next to him, not looking up at his girlfriend. "There's quite a lot to explain, Tamara."

"Why have you been lying to me?"

He looked up at these words. "What makes you think I've been lying to you?"

She couldn't say anything about Bruce being Batman, but that didn't mean she couldn't mention Batman. "Batman came to see me today. To warn me about you. You fucking gassed him with some sort of hallucinogen. You nearly killed him, Jonathan."

"And is he sure it was me?"

"Yes. Jonathan, did you or did you not attack Batman? Answer me."

He paused for a second or two. "I did," he finally answered.

That wasn't the answer Tamara wanted to hear. She let out a shaky gasp and felt tears begin to slide down her face. "Why?" she sobbed. "Why, Jonathan?" She had done everything she could to believe that Bruce had made a mistake and that none of this was true, but hearing Jonathan admit it was more than she could take, especially after how hard she'd fallen for the man.

He shrugged slightly. "I work for a powerful man."

"So was this a lie then?" she demanded. "Was our whole relationship just a game to you?"

"No," he replied seriously. "No, Jonathan loves you very dearly."

She frowned. "What the fuck are you talking about? Why are you talking in the third person?"

He stood up, cracking his neck loudly. "The good doctor isn't here right now, sweetheart. But don't worry, I'm here to look after you instead. I think it's time for your medicine."

"Jonathan, no, I – what the fuck are you doing?" she screamed as she walked towards her, holding his arm out. A cloud of gas erupted from the sleeve, filling her nostrils and mouth, choking her. She coughed desperately, trying to rid it from her system but it was stuck in her throat, burning, filling up her lungs. She looked up sharply at the feel of two cold fingers on her chin – Jonathan was crouched down before her, his piercing blue eyes staring right into her own. There were spiders crawling all over his face. Huge, hairy, eight-legged spiders, tarantulas, at least four of them, slowly making their way over his sculpted features. One of them stretched out a long, furry leg, poking it into the corner of his mouth. Tamara felt bile rise in her throat and screamed as loud as she could, trying desperately to move away from Jonathan and the spiders.

"What's the matter, baby?" he said. "Why are you crying?"

"They're everywhere!" she screeched. "They're all over you!"

Jonathan (or perhaps, Scarecrow) didn't know what she was seeing, but whatever it was, it was horrifying her. There was fear in her eyes that he had only ever seen in Arkham's most troubled inmates, and the dose of toxin he'd given her wasn't even that strong. He ran his hands down over her shoulders and moved forwards slightly so that he leaned over her, which only aggravated her more. She began thrashing against him, shaking her head desperately from side to side, screaming about how 'they' were touching her. Insects, perhaps? He'd never taken the time to find out what it was that she feared.

"Oh, Jonathan was right, you _do _look delicious when you're scared," he drawled, pushing her coat off her shoulders so that he could stroke her bare arms. "And I think there's something in his pants that seems to feel the same way."

She was hysterical by now, choking on her own sobs and tears. Jonathan moved forwards so that his legs were on either side of her chair and kissed her fiercely, pressing her full lips against his own with a force that only Scarecrow could ever have mustered. She screamed into the kiss, and he felt another twitch of arousal. God, she was hot when she was like this. Why hadn't he done this earlier?

Tamara just wished her hands weren't tied, she wanted nothing more than to push him off her. Why was he kissing her when he had fucking spiders all over his face? Oh God, she could feel them against her skin. She could feel them and she wanted to be sick.

Jonathan slowly trailed one of his hands down, right down to below her waist, but she slammed her legs together instantly and kicked her feet out, her heels landing square against his shins. He grunted in pain and pulled away from her, wiping her lipstick off his mouth. He thought the toxin was starting to wear off slightly, her sobs were slowing down and she was beginning to look slightly sleepy. He'd have to leave her soon. He sighed, he was useless with goodbyes.

"You take over from here, Doc," he mumbled, cracking his neck once more.

Tamara was focussing on the floor. There was nothing scary on the floor, if she stayed staring at it for long enough then maybe the spiders would go away. She looked up with a jump as she felt Jonathan's cool hand against her shoulder. The spiders were gone. His features were still blurred slightly from the toxin that was still coursing through her veins but she was no longer hallucinating. She suddenly realised that the spiders had never even been there, yet they'd seemed so real. She could have sworn that she'd _felt_ them.

"Why did you do that?" she muttered softly. "If I ever meant anything to you, then why did you do that to me?"

He rolled his eyes impatiently. "You silly girl, you always meant something to me, you still do, can't you see that?"

"I didn't realise affection was shown by drugging your girlfriend," she said, her voice still shaking.

"I'm not well, Tamara," he told her frantically. "I'm not always me. I can't control how I act, but you are mine, and I care for you. You think that what I did to you was some sort of malicious act, but trust me darling, if that had been malicious, you would be dead by now. It normally takes my patients weeks to recover from my toxin, yet you're fine and it's been about five minutes. Do you see what I'm saying? And something very bad is going to happen to Gotham tonight, and all the while you're going to be tied up safely in my apartment, where no one can hurt you." He kissed her forehead gently. "I have to go now, but I'll come back for you."

"Jonathan, what's going to happen?"

He stood up and began to walk to the door. "Goodbye, Tamara. I'll see you later."

"Jonathan, fucking answer me!" she cried. "What's going to happen to Gotham?"

The door shut. Jonathan was gone, and Tamara was alone. Jesus Christ. What had she gotten herself into?

**Author's note: **Thanks to everyone who's reviewed. I'm afraid the next chapter probably won't be out until next week, as my weekend is being taken up by Reading Festival! I hope I wrote this chapter ok, let me know what you think.


	15. The Truth

**Author's note: **I'm aware that I haven't updated this for months and you've all probably lost interest by now but I finally got over my writer's block and decided to carry on writing. It would mean so much to me if everyone who was reading it before carried on enjoying this. I hope my writing hasn't got bad over my little break, but I've really enjoyed writing this story again and hopefully I'll be back to updating it regularly.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but my OC.

**_Chapter Seven_**

**_The Truth _**

She'd untied herself. It had taken her the best part of an hour, but Tamara had finally managed to untie herself. She'd managed to catch a thinner part of the rope binding her wrists between one of her rings and a delicate gold bangle she was wearing, and created enough friction to sever the rope and wriggle her thin wrists until they were free. Of course, this still didn't leave her in a position that was much more convenient. True, she was free to do as she pleased, but by the sounds of it, she would be safer in Jonathan's home – not that she was going to do that. She supposed she had a choice: go and find Jonathan and try and find out what the hell was going on, or go home and find Bruce. Tamara had never been one for sensibility.

She really did wish she'd thought to get changed before she left the Manor though – a long dress and thin heels were not the most practical choice of outfit for running around The Narrows. This helped her to make her decision – if she went home to find Bruce she could get changed before going to find Jonathan. With a plan in mind – albeit a very basic one – Tamara felt slightly more confident, and she pulled on her thick parka before opening Jonathan's front door and stepping out into the biting cold night air. She supposed she should probably call a cab.

* * *

Bruce rolled his shoulders in an attempt to loosen his tense muscles as he surveyed Rachel, a writhing mess on the table upon which she lay. He didn't know how the toxin was making her see him but it could not have been pleasant for her. She lashed out at him with all her might but Bruce calmly deflected her blow and instead applied a gentle grip to her neck that rendered her unconscious within seconds.

"_BATMAN. PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND SURRENDER. YOU ARE SURROUNDED,_" echoed a voice from outside. Someone had called the cops. Bruce lifted up Rachel into his arms, amazed at how light she was. He wasn't afraid of the cops. Right then, he posed a far bigger threat to them than they did to him.

* * *

Police cars surrounded the exterior of Arkham, the foreboding building towering over them and leaving them in darkness save for the flashing red and blue lights on top of their cars. The cops had their guns drawn. Waiting. The anticipation was always the worst part. Staff slowly emerged from the asylum, blinking in confusion, their hands raised in defeat as if it was them that the cops were after.

"What're you waiting for?" Flass barked at the Uniforms, stepping out of his own car alongside Gordon.

"Backup," one cop answered him.

"Backup?!" he questioned, gesturing at the police cars outside of the building – at least a dozen.

"The Batman's in there," he explained nervously. "SWAT's on the way, but if you want to go now…" he smiled slightly. "I'm right behind you, sir."

Flass turned to Gordon with a shrug. "SWAT's on the way."

Gordon shook his head and made his own way to the front doors. He entered the lobby and made his way through the darkness, his gun drawn, eyes flicking to the terrified nurses who were making their way to the front door. He tried the elevator but it was dead. He instead made his way to the flight of stairs just inside the main corridor. The SWAT team burst in just as he began to ascend the steps, the flashlights on their rifles scanning the darkness. Gordon was just making his way up the rickety stairwell when he was grabbed by a strong hand. The owner of the hand did not let go as the two of them rocketed upwards.

"What-!" Gordon cried, but he was cut off as another hand covered his mouth. Down below, the SWAT team were beginning to make their way up the stairs. Gordon was pulled into the rafters, finally giving him the chance to turn around and see his captor. He found himself face to face with Batman. He also couldn't help but notice Rachel Dawes, lying behind Batman, twitching as though she was having a fit.

"What's happened to her?" he whispered furiously.

"Crane poisoned her with his toxin. He was the third man at the docks."

"Let me take her down to the medics-"

"They can't help her. But I can."

The lights came on below them, bleaching the stairwell, but leaving Batman, Gordon and Rachel in the shadow of the attic they were crouched in. Batman reached down to his boot. By pressing a switch in the heel, he was able to produce a barely audible, high-frequency whining sound. He gestured to Rachel.

"I need to get her the antidote before the damage becomes permanent."

"How long does she have?"

"Not long."

* * *

Outside the Asylum, a strange, squealing sound could be heard. Flass looked around, curious. A dark cloud was crossing the moon, but not a regular cloud. What the hell was that?

* * *

"Get her downstairs, meet me in the alley on the Narrows side," Batman instructed Gordon.

"How will you get out?"

Batman indicated towards his boot. "I called for backup. Crane's been refining his toxin, stockpiling it."

"What was he planning?"

"I don't know, but he's been working for someone else."

Gordon frowned at the loud squealing noise that was gradually becoming so loud it was almost deafening.

"What _is _that?"

"Backup."

* * *

'Backup' turned out to be bats. Thousands of bats. Flass screamed and cops dived for cover as the heavy black cloud of bats descended on the asylum, heading for the windows. The windows shattered inwards as the bats poured into the building. Gordon shielded Rachel as best as he could as he carried her down the steps. The bats were flooding up the stairwell, soaring past the SWATs, blocking all light. Batman was a calm figure amongst the bats. He pulled the sounder out of his heel, leant over the stairwell and dropped it. Bats began to cyclone down the stairwell, following the signal. Batman jumped into the centre of the black cyclone, his fall hidden. He opened his cloak with a jolt, landing hard. He moved calmly through the bats, slipping past cowering SWATs, moving past cell doors. Inmates stared wide-eyed out of their windows as he passed. He turned to a cell door and pulled a small package out of his utility belt. He used this to blast open the door and kick it in, revealing two flinching inmates. He strode across the cell between them.

"Excuse me," he murmured.

He blasted the window of their cell and slid out into the night.

He could see Gordon lowering Rachel down onto the asphalt. She was stirring slightly.

"How is she?"

Gordon looked up just as a searchlight from an overhead chopper blinded them. Batman took Rachel from him and Gordon pointed back to the street behind him.

"Take my car."

"I brought mine."

Batman took Rachel and disappeared into the dark end of the alley.

"Yours?" asked Gordon, confused, his eyes following Batman as best as he could.

The next few seconds were made up of a flare of blinding headlights and the roar of a massive engine. Gordon dived out of the way, making it just in time before the Batmobile came flying out of the darkness, its matte-black muscularity blowing by him, causing his jaw to drop.

"I gotta get me one of those," he murmured to himself in sheer amazement.

* * *

Tamara stumbled out of the taxi the moment it pulled up to the gates of Wayne Manor, tossing the driver a handful of notes and mumbling something about keeping the change. She jogged up the driveway, holding her dress up with one hand to stop it from snagging on her heels. Expensive cars were lining the entrance to the Manor, making Tamara change her mind about taking the front entrance. She did not feel like being mobbed by party guests and instead made her way to one of the back entrances that led into the kitchen. Luckily for her, Alfred was sat in the kitchen, anxiously watching the news.

"Alfred, where's Bruce?" she panted, slightly out of breath from her run.

"He's not here, Miss Wayne," he replied solemnly.

Tamara paused, halfway through taking her parka jacket off, no longer cold in the sweltering heat of the kitchen.

"What?" she asked. "He left hours ago. He's still not back?" She felt a flutter of worry in her stomach.

Alfred shook his head, trying to mask his own anxieties. He turned to Tamara, frowning. "What about you, Miss Wayne? Did you not tell Master Wayne that you would wait here until he got back?"  
Colour rushed to Tamara's cheeks as she realised that she had forgotten to tell Alfred that she'd left in her rush to get to Arkham.

"I would have been waiting here all night if I'd waited for Bruce. I couldn't do that Alfred, I needed to get to Arkham."

Alfred nodded, understanding, although still disapproving. "You could have at least told your old butler that you were leaving."  
"I'm sorry, Alfred," she sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I was in a rush."

He nodded once more. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I just need to speak to Bruce. Something bad is going to happen to Gotham tonight."

"Then I'm sure your brother will already know all about it."

* * *

A cop lead Gordon into the derelict bath house below Arkham, which was filled with tiled baths and hydrotherapy equipment. There was a pool in the centre in which a massive hole had been dug through the bottom. Dozens of aluminium barrels sat alongside it. Gordon climbed down, peering into the hole. A torrent of water ran at the bottom.

"Looks like they tapered the mains…" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He looked at the dozens of barrels, and then he realised. "Get me somebody at the water board!"

* * *

Rachel's eyes flickered open to the cavernous damp darkness where bats were hanging overhead. She decided she preferred it with her eyes closed.

"Oh my God," she whispered under her breath.

"How do you feel?"

"Where are we?" Rachel's voice was hoarse. There was no response. "Why did you bring me here?" She attempted.

"If I hadn't…your mind would now be lost. You were poisoned."

Rachel thought hard, concentrating, trying to remember.

"I remember…nightmares. This…face, this…_mask_." Realisation dawned on her. "Crane. It was Crane. Oh God, someone needs to tell Tamara Wayne-" She struggled off the table, trying to stand. "I have to tell the police, we've got-"

She slipped, but Batman was there to catch her.

"Rest. Crane isn't your concern right now. Gordon knows. Tamara knows."

In his arms she looked up at him, as he laid her gently back onto the table and retreated into the shadows.

"Is Sergeant Gordon your friend?"

"I don't have the luxury of friends."

Rachel watched the dark shadow hover just outside the light.

"Why did you save my life?"

"Gotham needs you."

"And you serve Gotham?"

"I serve justice."

Rachel stared at the solitary shadow in fascination. She pitied him.

"Perhaps you do."

Batman stepped into the light, holding a pneumatic syringe and two vials.

"I'm going to give you a sedative. You'll wake up back at home." He held up the two vials. "And when you do, get these to Gordon, and Gordon alone. Trust no one."  
"What are they?"

"The antidote. One for Gordon to inoculate himself, the other to start mass-production." He handed her the vials. "Crane was just a pawn. He was working for someone else."

"Ghul…something Al Ghul," Rachel remembered.

"Ra's Al Ghul," Batman nodded. "It's not him. He's dead."

"How do you know?"

"I watched him die."

* * *

"Someone's been dumping a dangerous contaminant into the supply from this location for days, maybe weeks-" Gordon insisted frantically down the phone to the technician from the water board he was talking to.

"If that's true then it's already spread through the whole system. But no one's reported any effects…"

Gordon looked around him, trying to think and clear his mind of the frustration he was currently feeling.

"It must be like chlorine or fluoride – harmless to drink, but when you breathe it it's deadly. Look, wake up your boss, see if there's a way to flush out the system."

* * *

Tamara paced the study nervously, finally out of her party clothes and dressed instead in an all-black combo of jeans, jumper, leather jacket and sturdy boots.

"I've been home for an hour now, Alfred!" she cried.

"I'm sure your brother knows what he's doing, Miss Wayne," Alfred attempted to reassure her.

Just then, the bookcase in the study slid open and Bruce emerged from behind it.

"Where the _fuck _have you been?" Tamara almost screamed at him.

"I could ask you the same question," he replied angrily. "I told you to wait for me."

Tamara hesitated. "How did you know that I was gone?"

"I spoke to Crane. Nice boyfriend you've got yourself there, Tamara. What a catch."

Tamara ignored her brother's sarcastic comment. "What's he going to do to Gotham, Bruce?"

"Have you been with him tonight?"

She nodded. "I was at his house. Tied up, but I got myself free."  
Anger reared in Bruce again. "He tied you up? He told me you were safe, that fucking bastard."

"He tied me up to keep me safe. And…" Tamara paused, unsure if she should tell Bruce this. "He used that toxin on me. The same one he used on you."

At this Bruce cleared the distance between them and grabbed her, holding her shoulders in a tight grip. "Tamara, I can get you an antidote, I can-"

Tamara rested one of her cold hands on top of Bruce's, calming him. "I'm fine, Bruce. He gave me the tiniest dose, it affected me for five minutes at the very most. I'm _fine. _I just need you to tell me where you've been and what's going to happen tonight."

Bruce sighed. "I went to Arkham. Crane had got Rachel with his toxin. I got her back here and sedated her. She has the antidote. It'll be mass produced."

"Why do we need mass production of the antidote?"

"I think Crane's found a way to release it throughout the whole city."

Tamara gasped, holding a hand to her mouth. She staggered away from Bruce, sitting down on the piano stool.

"Tamara, you need to know, as much of a weasel as Crane is, he was working for someone else."  
Tamara nodded, but Bruce's words weren't really going in. She was in shock.

"Tamara, where's Crane? Where's Jonathan?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. He didn't tell me where he was going."

Bruce groaned in frustration. "I should have caught him when I had the chance. Handed him over to Gordon."

Tamara looked up at her older brother. "Why didn't you?"  
"Because I knew he was going to see you. And I know that he cares for you." He finally turned to Alfred. "It sounds like the party's still going on." He took the dinner jacket that Alfred offered him and hastily dressed himself, smoothing back his hair which had been hanging, sweaty, in his face. "Alfred, I need you to take Rachel home."

"Very good, sir," he nodded.

"Is Fox still here?" Tamara and Alfred both nodded. "Tell your staff to stop serving drinks and move everybody on after the cake."

Bruce moved to the door, gesturing at Tamara to follow him.  
"Really, Bruce? With me dressed like this?"

Bruce narrowed his eyes at her. "That's true. Why _are _you dressed like that?"

"I'm going to find Jonathan."

"No, Tamara," Bruce said firmly. "No, you have to stay here. He is not the man you fell in love with anymore. He's dangerous."

"I don't care, Bruce. I need to find him, I need to know what's going on."

Bruce nodded his head once. "At least stay for the cake."

* * *

There were hundreds of guests. Music. Tables groaning under the weight of food. Tamara suddenly felt very conspicuous in her casual clothes and wished she could have kept her dress on for just a bit longer. Not that anyone was paying attention to her. As soon as the siblings entered the main hall, all eyes were on Bruce. He waded his way through the throng of guests, grinning and shaking hands. The band began to play 'Happy Birthday'. Tamara pulled Bruce away from a heavily made-up middle-aged woman, gesturing to Fox who was stood beside a table of hors d'oeuvres. Now that the man of the hour had finally made his appearance, guests were beginning to leave. Wayne and Tamara worked the room together, as charming as they could be, until they finally reached Fox.

"Any word on that…_item_?" Bruce asked.

Fox nodded, glancing around slyly. He leant in close so that only Bruce and Tamara could hear him.

"A contact in heavy weapons tipped me off – it's a microwave emitter. It vaporises water."

"Could you use it to put a biological agent into the air?"

Fox shrugged. "Sure, if the water supply were poisoned before you vaporised it."

Wayne nodded gravely.

"Happy birthday, Bruce." It was Mr Earle.

Tamara could see Bruce's taught face and decided to speak for him. "Mr Earle, good of you to come," she smiled politely, but he ignored her, his eyes still set on Bruce.

"Not everybody thought you'd make it this far," Earle smiled.

"Sorry to disappoint. How did the stock offering go?"

"Very well – the price soared."  
"Who was buying?" Tamara asked, saving Bruce the laborious small-talk.

Earle raised one grey eyebrow. "Rare of you to take an interest in your family's business, Miss Wayne. A variety of funds and brokerages – it's all a bit technical for you to understand – the key thing is, the company's future is secure."

Bruce nodded, squeezing Tamara's hand reassuringly.

"Have you met Lucius Fox?" he asked.

"Of course, Lucius, how are you?"

"Fox is showing me the ropes down at Applied Sciences. He's a great untapped resource at our company, aren't you, Mr Fox?"

Fox shot Bruce a look, but he simply winked and moved off, taking Tamara with him.

"He's a good kid."

Earle surveyed Fox coldly. "Fox, forget about kissing Wayne's ass to get back in. I'm merging Applied Sciences with central archiving and you're top of the early retirement list," he smiled at Fox's reaction. "Didn't you get the memo?"

* * *

Bruce and Tamara began to make their way to the study, but an elderly woman grabbed Bruce before they could quite get there.

"Bruce, there's somebody here you simply must meet!" she cried.

"Mrs Delane, I can't just now," he tried to tell her, his voice dripping with false apology.

She turned Wayne to face an Asian man who must have been in his fifties.

"Now, am I pronouncing it right?" Mrs Delane asked the man. In his buttonhole was a double-bloomed blue poppy. "Mr Al Ghul?"

The man nodded. Bruce merely stared at him.

"You're not Ra's Al Ghul. He's dead."

Mrs Delane laughed nervously, looking to Tamara in her confusion. Tamara merely shrugged.

"But is Ra's Al Ghul immortal?" a voice said from behind them.

The siblings turned. Standing there was a man, smiling coldly. Tamara didn't recognise him, but Bruce clearly did.

"Are his methods supernatural?" the man continued.

Bruce nodded in understanding. "Or cheap parlour tricks to conceal your true identity…Ra's?"

The man – Ducard – smiled in acknowledgement.

"Bruce, I don't understand-" Tamara begun, but Bruce silenced her with a wave of his hand.

"Ah, you must be Tamara," Ducard – or Ra's, as it happened – said, turning his eyes to Tamara. "A little underdressed, aren't we?"  
"I was just on my way out, actually."

"To see Dr Crane?"

Tamara froze. "How did you-"

Ra's turned back to Bruce, ignoring Tamara. "Surely _you _don't begrudge me duel identities?" He began to move through the dwindling party guests, Bruce and Tamara following. "I've been admiring your work, even as it's interfered with my plans." He looked at Bruce with a tinge of sadness. "You were my greatest student…until you betrayed me."

Bruce began to notice certain guests staring at him. Of course, the League of Shadows.

"Your quarrel is with me. Let my guests go."

"As you wish. But they don't have long to live – your antics at the Asylum have forced my hand…"  
Tamara gasped. "Jonathan was working for you."

"His toxin is derived from the organic compound in our blue poppies. Crane was able to weaponise the compound. A brilliant scientist, but no visionary. He just wanted money and power-" he smiled at Tamara, watching her take offence at his words. "I told him the plan was to hold the city to ransom, but in fact-"

"You're going to unleash Crane's poison on the entire city," Bruce finished for him.

Ra's nodded seriously. "Then watch Gotham tear itself apart through fear."

Tamara stepped backwards slowly, moving away from her brother until she was mixed in with the rest of the crowd. She didn't want to leave her brother, but she couldn't stay away from Jonathan any longer either. She had to find him. Even if it was the last time she saw him, she had to know the truth.

**Author's note: **I'm so grateful to everyone who's reviewed this story so far. I can't thank you enough for showing an interest in my little story! Please please review again, it would mean so much. I'm really excited to write the next chapter. X


	16. Let The Flames Begin

**Author's note: **Two chapters in a night because I just cannot stop writing this. Thanks so much to those of you who've reviewed so far, makes me so happy knowing that you're glad I'm updating again! I think this is the best chapter so far, hope you think so too.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but my OC.

**_Chapter Eight _**

**_Let The Flames Begin_**

Tamara wasted no time in getting out of the Manor as quickly as her feet would carry her and clambering into her old Camaro. She felt an overwhelming sense of guilt for leaving Bruce alone with that man, but she knew that he could handle himself. Worry tugged at her stomach, causing it to fill with butterflies, as she realised that she was probably putting herself in far more danger than her brother was currently in. She shrugged it off and turned on the radio, thinking some music might help her focus. She backed out of the Wayne Manor driveway and made her way to the Narrows, remembering the time she'd first driven to Arkham to ask for work experience. So much had happened since that fateful day just a few months ago – for starters, she'd been reunited with her brother.

Cop cars were blocking the bridge that led to the Narrows. Police in riot gear were everywhere, some even on horses. This was bigger than Tamara could have imagined. She parked her car on the side of the road and climbed out, almost forgetting to lock it behind her. She made her way to the first police officer she could see.

"You need to let me into the Narrows," she told him, hoping her voice sounded calmer than she felt.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "So you can fuck your creep boyfriend? Nice try, princess."

It was times like this when Tamara hated her celebrity status. Was there a person in Gotham who wouldn't judge her for entering into a relationship with the man who would be responsible for the demise of the entire city?

"You think I'd be with him if I'd known about this all along?" she snapped. "Just let me in. I just want to talk to him."  
"You know where he is?"

"No," she replied honestly. "I need to find him."

"You think I'm gonna let you waltz off to find your boyfriend, when every cop in Gotham is currently hunting for him? Fuck off, honey."

Tamara took a deep breath in through her nose and pursed her lips. She remembered Bruce telling her she looked like her mother when she did that. "Let me past."

"No. Back off or I'll have you arrested."

She knew he was bluffing. Tamara had never been a violent person but right now she'd be willing to kill a puppy if it would get her into Arkham. "Okay," she nodded. It was her turn to bluff. She began to turn away from him, and the officer turned away too, satisfied that Tamara was no longer a problem. Tamara raised her elbow and brought it down as hard as she could on the officer's head. She began to worry that it wasn't enough, that it wouldn't bring him down and he'd finally have a reason to arrest her, but she'd underestimated her own strength. The officer crumpled to the ground. Tamara didn't know if the cops surrounding her hadn't seen what had just happened or if they were just choosing to ignore it. Tamara crouched down and pulled the man's gun from its holster. She'd never even held a gun before but she supposed she'd watched enough films to know the basics of how to use it if that's what it came down to. She checked that the safety was on before tucking it away into the inner pocket of her jacket. With the weight of the gun by her side, Tamara felt somewhat comforted. She was entering the most dangerous part of the city by herself at night to search for her boyfriend-turned-criminal, but at least she was armed.

* * *

Bruce and Ra's entered the library, which was empty of guests.

"You're going to destroy millions of lives."

"No. _Billions _of lives," Ra's corrected him. "Gotham is just the beginning. The world will watch in terror as the greatest city falls. Anarchy and chaos will spread, mankind will ravage itself, the species will be culled and the balance of nature restored. The planet will be saved for all species."

Bruce was appalled. "You're inhuman."

"Don't question my humanity, Bruce. When I found you in that fetid hole you were lost. I saved you. I showed you a path and took away your fear. I made you what you are." He stared at Bruce darkly. "And in return, you attacked me and burned my home."

Ra's looked up at the men watching them from the gallery above and nodded. At his command, the men began to set fire to the hanging curtains.

"Since then, you've used my skills and techniques to interfere with my plans," Ra's continued. "Plans in which you were supposed to play a part."

"What part was that, Ra's? To put my company at your disposal? To obtain your microwave emitter and plant it somewhere in Gotham?"

Ra's smiled and nodded. "You were supposed to be Gotham's destroyer. Instead, you became her only protector."

"You underestimate Gotham."

"You underestimate Gotham's corruption. We've infiltrated every aspect of the city's infrastructure." The flames from the curtains were beginning to rise, smoke gathering at the ceiling. "Gotham is helpless without you. That's why I'm here."

"To kill me?"

Ra's Al Ghul looked at Bruce and to his surprise, he could see emotion in Ra's' eyes.

"To bring you back to us, Bruce. The world will need great men like you."

"To take power," Bruce finished for him.

"This is not about power. This is about saving the planet before man destroys it with his greed, with his pollution, with his weaponry."

Ra's held out his hand and one of his ninjas threw him a sword. He handed it to Bruce, placing the point at his own throat.

"You still doubt me? Apply a few pounds of pressure. Buy your precious city a reprieve."

He looked into Bruce's eyes with absolute conviction.

"Kill me. Then you'll understand how simple it is to do what's necessary."

Bruce held the sword to Ra's' throat.

"I will not take your life. I will not be a part of this."

"But you already are. You've given Gotham a potent symbol of fear."

"I frighten criminals," Bruce argued.

"You frighten _everybody_. A giant vengeful bat? What better apocalyptic symbol to haunt Gotham's dreams as panic takes hold?"

Bruce pulled the sword from Ra's' throat. Ra's looked at him, contemptuous. He pulled at the handle of his cane, producing his own sword.

"Then die with Gotham."

* * *

Tamara had absolutely no idea where she was going. She was well and truly lost, wandering aimlessly down alleys that looked exactly the same as each other. She was lucky to have had no trouble, the occasional perv looking her up and down but nothing more.

"Goddammit Jonathan, where the fuck are you?!" she screamed out in frustration.

"Tamara?"

She looked up. Jonathan was leaning out of a window, just above her. He looked tired, his hair a wild dark mess atop his head, but other than that he seemed fine. He seemed sane.

"Jonathan? What are you doing?"

"Hiding," he replied. "Come on up."

Tamara hesitated for a moment. She could be walking right into a trap. This could be the last decision she ever made. But she _trusted_ Jonathan. Despite everything that had happened, she still loved him. And besides, if things got nasty, she had a gun – although she doubted that she would ever be able to use it against Jonathan.

She merely had to push against the door to the building in which Jonathan was hiding for it to open, its rotting wood groaning under the light pressure she'd applied. She found herself in a dank stairwell that smelt damp and derelict. The only light came from a flickering bulb hanging from the lobby ceiling.

"Jonathan?" she called.

"Second floor," came his reply.

She climbed up the stairs, brushing cobwebs out of the way and dodging dubious looking puddles and stains on the steps. The door to the second floor apartment was ajar, so Tamara poked her head through the gap. Jonathan was sat on a moth-eaten armchair, his head in his hands. A crude mask made out of a burlap sack was laid on the floor near him.

"Can I come in?"

He looked up and nodded.

"Is it safe?"  
He laughed slightly. "What does it matter, you have a gun and I am totally unarmed. You have the upper hand here, Tamara."

Tamara opened the door wide enough to let herself in and then closed it behind her. "How did you know that I have a gun?"

He looked at her, half rolling his eyes that still sparkled bright blue even in the dim light. "It's like you hardly know me at all."

"Apparently I don't," Tamara sighed, sitting herself down on the armchair that rested besides Jonathan's. "You're pretty much Gotham's most wanted right now."

"I'm not the one rendering cops unconscious."

Tamara looked at him, shocked. "Come on Jonathan, I know you're good at psychology but you're not a fucking mind reader."  
He laughed again, although it was half-hearted. "I saw you. I was in a different building so I could overlook the bridge. Too many cops. I needed to move."

They sat in silence for a few moments.

"Why?" she finally asked.

"Why what?"

"You know what. Is what Ra's said true? You did all this for the money?"

"You've met Ra's?"

"He sort of crashed my brother's birthday party."

"Your brother is Batman."

Tamara saw no point in denying it. "Yes. How did you know?"  
Crane snorted. "It's obvious. Bruce Wayne goes missing for eight years and as soon as he comes back, the Batman shows up. Whoever Batman is requires money for his weapons, vehicles, armour and so on. Wayne has the money and the power to do that. I had my suspicions but I didn't fully work it out until you told me that Batman had come to see you earlier. I should've known sooner."

"Would you have still got involved with me if you had known?" she asked hesitantly.

For the first time all night, Jonathan looked at Tamara properly, his own eyes meeting hers with a stare so piercing Tamara felt the need to look away. "Yes. Yes, Tamara. I love you. You know that I love you. I have never loved another woman in my life."

Tamara felt her eyes fill with tears. She'd promised herself that she would not cry, but she hadn't been expecting this. "I love you too," she whispered.

"Even after all of this?"  
She nodded, wiping her eyes. "This doesn't change anything. We can't be together anymore Jonathan, but it doesn't make me stop loving you."

"We _can _still be together," he said, grabbing both of Tamara's hands in his own clammy ones. This was a side of Jonathan that she had not yet been introduced to. He seemed…desperate. "They don't have to catch me. We can leave. Just me and you. Pick a state, any state, and we'll go there. Or a country. We could go abroad. Start a new life. A new life together. I'll get help. Tamara, please."

To see Jonathan reduced to this, a pleading mess, only made Tamara cry harder. "No, Jonathan," she shook her head. "My life is here. In Gotham. I don't want to play games. I don't want to spend my whole life in hiding, living a lie." She paused. "I have to tell the police where you are."

He dropped her hands and stood up so quickly he knocked the armchair over. "No. You can't. They'll send me to Arkham. Tamara, I know what it's like there, I worked there. I can't be there."  
She bowed her head. "You said it yourself Jonathan, you need help. Arkham can give that to you."

"I'm not a criminal!"

Tamara stood up herself. "You produced and weaponised a toxin that could drive people to paranoid wrecks. You are a criminal, Jonathan."

"No," he shook his head frantically. "No I am not. Ra's Al Ghul will hold Gotham to ransom. No harm will be done."

"You are so fucking clueless!" Tamara shouted. "He's not holding the city to ransom, he's going to release that toxin so that the whole goddamn city goes crazy and tears itself apart!"

"He's the criminal, not me," Jonathan murmured, still shaking his head.

Tamara took his head between her hands, holding it still. "Without you, this would not be happening. You are a criminal, Jonathan, and I'm telling the police where you're hiding."

Jonathan pulled his head from out of her grip, pointing an accusing finger at her. "You're betraying me."

"You can't spend your life running."

"I can and I will."

"No, Jonathan."

He fell to his knees and to Tamara's surprise, his body began to shake, racked with shuddering sobs. He crawled the short distance between him and Tamara, clutching onto her jeans, bawling like a child. Jonathan had never seemed like the sort of man to cry, to show emotion, yet here he was, grovelling at her feet.

"I don't want to be locked away, Tammy," he sobbed. Tamara felt a shiver run up her spine at his use of her brother's nickname for her. "I want to be with you."

She moved one shaking hand down to his head and stroked his hair. "That's what I want too, Jonathan. But you spoilt that. You have ruined any hope for a future that we ever had."

He began to cry even harder. "Tammy," he moaned.

"I've got to go, Jonathan," she said, tears spilling down her cheeks. She pulled him up to his feet, having to support his weight. "I've got to go. I've got to make sure my brother's okay. I've got to be there for Gotham."

"Don't leave me."

"I have to." She paused for a few seconds, allowing him to cry on her shoulder. "I won't tell the police, okay? Okay, Jonathan?"

He looked up at her. "You won't?"  
"No. But you have to run. You have to get far away from here. You can't be involved with this anymore. And you can't ever try and contact me. This is goodbye, Jonathan."

He nodded his thanks. "I love you."

"I love you too," she sighed, pressing her lips against his. It wasn't like the passionate kisses they had once shared. It wasn't even desperate. This was a kiss shared between two people who had given up. It was a hopeless kiss.

Tamara didn't want to make things harder than they already were and turned away from him, making her way out. There was nothing more to say. She was just exiting the room when she heard a cold voice that made her freeze in her tracks.

"Fuck you, you fucking bitch."

It wasn't Jonathan anymore. She shut her eyes tightly, fingering the gun in her pocket, before turning to face him. He'd pulled the mask over his face, hiding every distinguishable feature save for his eyes.

"Don't do this."

"I should kill you."

She nodded. "Perhaps. But that's not what Jonathan would want you to do."

"Fuck what Jonathan wants. He's a disgrace. Snivelling at your feet like a coward. Falling in love."

"Let me leave, Jonathan. Just let me leave."

"No. I want to cut you into a thousand tiny pieces. I want to tear your insides out. I want to stab you in your cold, black little heart."

"Jonathan."  
"THAT'S NOT MY NAME!" he roared.

"Okay," she cried, holding her hands up submissively. "Okay, I'm sorry. But I'm going now. And you need to go too."

With that, she turned on her heel and ran. She didn't look back or check to see if he was following her. She just ran into the night, her tears blinding her and distorting her view. She stopped dead in her tracks however, as soon as a manhole cover just a few feet away from her exploded, releasing a geyser of steam. A fire hydrant just down the street exploded too, hissing wildly. This was it. It had started, and Tamara was lost in the Narrows with no idea where she was or no antidote. She should have let Jonathan kill her.

* * *

Ra's threw himself at Bruce with ferocity and skill, but Bruce was skilled too, and he could parry and thrust just as well as Ra's. Waves of flame were rolling over the high ceiling. The Manor could not be saved, and this filled Bruce with a sadness similar to the one he felt when his parents were killed. Shaking off the sadness, he pushed Ra's back under the gallery, dodging his poorly-aimed thrust, and forcing Ra's down to the ground. He held his sword at his throat.

"Perhaps you taught me too well."

Ra's looked up at him with a sly smile. "Or perhaps you'll never learn." A section of the burning gallery dropped onto Bruce, winding him, crushing his ribs, making him see stars. "Mind your surroundings as well as your opponent."

Ra's rose, looking down at Bruce, who lay unconscious, pinned under burning timbers.

"Rest easy, friend."

* * *

Tamara was curled against a building, her face in her arms, trying desperately to not breathe in any of the steam but she was failing, her vision was darkening and her mind felt foggy as she began to cough and splutter, attempting to force the toxin out of her lungs. She looked up at the sound of footsteps, only just able to make out a silhouette. Whether it was a man or woman, human or animal, she couldn't tell.

"Tamara?" the silhouette cried. Woman.

"Help me," Tamara choked.

The figure began to run towards her and Tamara felt herself panic. This person could kill her. She wasn't ready to die yet.

"Tamara! It's me! It's Rachel! I have an antidote!"

Tamara looked up. It was Rachel. Rachel Dawes. With a spider crawling out of her mouth.

"Oh God, no," Tamara moaned, covering her face with an arm.

"No, no, Tamara, you're fine! I have an extra antidote! I gave one to Gordon but he'd found a spare in Arkham. I can help you, please just trust me."

Tamara felt her breathing ease at Rachel's soothing voice, but she was still too scared to look at her.

"Stay calm, I can help you."

She winced as she felt a needle slide into her arm, but just as the pain from the needle eased, so did her panic. Her vision cleared and the spiders were gone. Tamara wrapped her arms around Rachel, hugging her tightly. Rachel hugged her back.

"Tamara, I'm so sorry."

"I know where Jonathan is," she whispered.

Rachel pulled away from the hug. "Have you told anyone?"

"I couldn't do that to him. I know it's the right thing to do but-"

Rachel silenced her. "I understand. I'd do the same thing for your brother."

* * *

One of Ra's' ninjas was guarding a back entrance to the burning Manor. He was, however, no match for Alfred and the nine iron he carried, and a whack to the head had the trained ninja in a heap on the floor.

"I sincerely hope you're not from the fire department," Alfred said as he stepped over the body and into the Manor. It didn't take long for him to find Bruce and he rushed towards him, trying in vain to shift the burning wood from Bruce's chest. He slapped Bruce hard around the face.

"Master Wayne! Master Wayne!" he shouted.

Bruce's eyes flickered open. He tried to push the wood but he could hardly move.

Alfred let out an exasperated sigh. "Sir, whatever is the point of all those push-ups if you can't even-"

Bruce glared at Alfred, forcing the weight from his chest and breathing in a shuddering breath of warm, smoky air, just thankful that he could breathe again. They made their way through the burning room, jabbing at the flaming piano keys, crawling onto the lift by the wrought iron staircase, dropping down and out of the heat just as the house collapsed, sending an explosion of smoke and flames down the passage after Bruce and Alfred.

They landed hard and Bruce stared up the spiral. The crash of collapsing timbers echoed down as Wayne Manor died, just like his parents. Tears began to swim in his eyes.

"What have I done, Alfred?" he whispered. "Everything my family…everything my father and his father built…"

Alfred struggled to pull himself into a standing position. "The Wayne legacy is more than bricks and mortar, sir," he replied hoarsely.

Bruce stared up at the glowing shaft, lost in despair.

"I thought I could help Gotham, but I've failed."

Alfred dusted down his jacket. "And why do we fall, sir?"

Bruce looked at Alfred's bruised, smudged, and yet still dignified face. That was something his father used to say to him.

"So that we might better learn to pick ourselves up," Alfred continued.

"Still haven't given up on me?"

Alfred offered him a trembling hand. "Never."

Bruce took Alfred's hand and pulled himself up. It was only then when his stomach dropped as he realised they were missing somebody. "Alfred – where's Tamara?"

* * *

Rachel helped Tamara to her feet. "Come on."

Rioters were running through the fog, and despite the gun in Tamara's pocket, she still did not feel safe. She pulled it out and flicked the safety off. The clicking noise made Rachel look down. She nodded, reassured. The two girls slipped into a doorway. As they looked up into the fog, they could see men hoisting the emitter up onto the monorail.

* * *

The night was madness. Gotham had never seen anything like it. In Arkham, Crane (or perhaps Scarecrow), was running down the corridors, unlocking the doors to every inmate's cell, laughing to himself and chanting 'scarecrow' under his breath. Meanwhile, Bruce was becoming Batman. He had to find his sister, and he had to put a stop to Ra's Al Ghul's plan. It was time to stop wallowing in his own self-pity.

* * *

Tamara sat up slightly. Her and Rachel had begun to drift off, slumped in the uncomfortable doorway, trapped in darkness.

"Do you hear that?" she whispered. It was a sort-of dragging noise. She stood up and stepped out into the streets, despite Rachel's protests. She drew her gun, holding it shakily out in front of her. A horse emerged from the fog. At first she felt relieved – it was just police – but then she noticed who was riding the horse. It was Jonathan. Dragging along behind him, boot caught in the stirrup, was a dead mounted policeman. Tamara lowered her gun. She thought they were done with their goodbyes.

"Jonathan," she sighed.

"Scarecrow," he hissed.

He galloped towards Tamara and Rachel, and then stopped abruptly. Rioters were emerging from all around them. Tamara breathed a sigh of relief. He'd stopped, he'd seen sense. But no, he reared up, ready to stamp Tamara and Rachel – and Tamara was not going to let that happen. Before she knew what she was doing, she'd raised the gun and pulled the trigger. She'd never wanted to kill him, so it was just as well that she was a lousy shot. She'd only hit his arm, but it was enough for him to jerk in pain, causing the horse to bolt and drag Jonathan off into the fog. That had not been the goodbye Tamara was hoping for. She'd always imagined it with far less bloodshed.

* * *

_This is how we'll dance when they try to take us down, this is how we'll sing._

_This is how we'll stand when they burn our houses down, this is what will be._

_Oh glory._

**_Paramore – Let The Flames Begin_**


	17. Gotham's Saviour

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing but my OC.

**_Chapter Nine_**

**_Gotham's Saviour_**

Jonathan may have no longer been an issue, but the surrounding lunatics certainly were. They were closing in on Rachel and Tamara from all angles.

"What do we do?" Tamara whispered to Rachel, still shaking from her encounter with Jonathan, the gun still hot in her hands.

"Run?" Rachel suggested feebly.

"Run _where_? There's nowhere to go, they're everywhere."

They backed into the doorway they'd been stood in previously.

"Shoot them," Rachel said.

Tamara shook her head. "No. They're only advancing on us because they're seeing us distorted, you know what that toxin does to you. They're just scared. Besides, I don't have enough ammo for all of them anyway."

Just then, there was a huge crash, louder than the sound of a gun firing, enough to make the girls' ears ring. The vehicle could only be described as a huge, sleek, black tank – of course, it was the Batmobile. The Batmobile opened and out emerged Bruce – or rather, Batman. He saw the two girls cowering in the doorway and frantically made his way towards them.

"Bruce, watch out!" cried Tamara, seeing the rioting lunatic stood behind him. Batman may have been good but he didn't have eyes in the back of his head.

"Bruce?" repeated Rachel, turning to Tamara. "Did you just call Batman 'Bruce'?"

Tamara froze realising her mistake, but (perhaps thankfully) the rioter smashed a brick into Batman's head, saving Tamara from replying to Rachel. The brick barely made a dent in the back of his cowl, but he turned to the wide-eyed, terrified men stood behind him. To them he was twice his size, a shadowy demon with wings and glowing red eyes. They began to all fling bricks and bottles at him, trying to fight him off. Batman ran over to the two girls and grabbed them, firing his grappling gun upwards into the fog, hoping that it would catch onto something. Luckily, it did, and it allowed the three of them to shoot up into the night, away from the advancing mob.

They landed on a rooftop, high above the Narrows. Batman set Rachel and Tamara down gently, Tamara still clutching the gun to her chest, whilst Rachel stared at Batman in awe, trying to make out Bruce behind the mask. Below them, the Narrows was burning, almost obscured beneath the smoke and steam. The screams of people who were currently being torn apart by fear were almost deafening.

"Are you okay?" Batman asked Tamara.

She nodded. His eyes shifted, questioningly, to the gun.

"I had to defend myself," she shrugged.

"Against who?" he asked, his voice gravelly.

"Jonathan."

She saw a flash of sympathy in his eyes before he turned to Rachel. "They're going to unleash the toxin on the entire city. I have to find the microwave emitter."

"We saw some men lifting a machine up to the tracks," Rachel replied.

"Of course," he replied in realisation. "The monorail. The track runs directly over the water mains." He turned to face the city, staring at the vast sweep of monorail tracks that were visible. "He's going to drive that thing straight into Wayne Tower and blow the main hub, creating enough toxin to blanket the entire city."

Batman stood at the edge of the building, looking at the impossible drop below him to the moving monorail train.

"Wait!" Rachel cried.

He turned back to face her. Rachel stared at his eyes in the black cowl, and reached up to take his face in her hands.

"Why didn't you tell me, Bruce?"

His mouth opened in shock, before he put two and two together and turned to Tamara with a glare.

She looked down at her feet guiltily. "It just slipped out," she mumbled.

"Justice is about more than revenge," was all he could say.

Rachel flashed back to the day of Chill's hearing and the terrible things she'd said to Bruce that day. She opened her mouth to reply but he'd already pulled away from her and taken off over the edge of the building, falling.

"How can you just let him go?" she cried at Tamara.

Tamara shrugged her shoulders slightly. "He knows what he's doing."  
"That could be the last time you ever see him."

A smile reached the corners of Tamara's lips. "He has a way of coming back when we least expect him to."

* * *

Batman was free falling, his cloak flapping out behind them, the closest to wings he'd ever have. He slid his gloves into the activating pockets, forcing the cloak to go rigid and allowing it to smash the wind like a parachute. His arms controlled the cloak, not just arresting his fall but gliding gracefully like a hang-glider. He eyed the moving train and noiselessly made his way down. He cut through the geysers of steam that were shooting up in the train's wake and banked sharply around a station that the train had just cut through. The track ahead was passing into an office building and Batman furiously attempted to make his way down before the train reached the building. He managed to get over the back of the train that was just at the mouth of the tunnel and collapsed his cloak, dropping onto the train just as it blasted into the building. He laid on the roof as the train sped through the canyons of downtown Gotham. Bullets began to tear through the roof – the 'passengers' below must have heard his landing. Several of the bullets took Batman by surprise and hit him, jolting him loose and spinning him sideways.

Inside the train, all Ra's Al Ghul's ninjas could see was a shadow falling from the roof. One of them stuck his head up to check but there was nothing there but fresh bullet holes. At the men's feet, unnoticed by them, was a grappling hook, sticking through the floor of the train.

The people below – who were crowded outside a store window, watching the news on the TVs inside – had a better view. Batman was hanging from the train by his grappling cable, literally flying along, fifteen feet in the air, dodging stoplights and awnings.

The train crossed over a busy intersection and Batman flew over the cars and between tall trucks. Behind him, in the train's wake, manhole covers were exploding and fire hydrants were bursting. He began to struggle to fasten his grappling gun into his utility belt, but he was being tossed about too violently. A curve in the track sent him swinging up into the glass façade of a building, smashing along through forty feet of plated glass. Looking ahead once he'd cleared the glass, he could see a truck driven by yet more ninjas ahead of him, all of their weapons trained on him. Machine gun fire began to rain down on Batman, but with a shudder the truck was knocked sideways by a speeding car – driven by none other than Jim Gordon. Gordon looked up just in time to see Batman latch the grappling gun into his belt and shoot up, just skirting the lip of the tunnel that the track had reached.

Batman jumped into the rear car and fired his grappling gun at a Ninja's leg, yanking him down. He downed another ninja with a swift elbow to the head. He leapt for the door between cars, but a ninja in the car in front locked it. This didn't stop him. He simply smashed through the window, landing on the ninja and wrapping his hand tightly around his throat.

"You!" cried Ra's Al Ghul furiously.

Batman dropped the ninja and leapt up, out of Ra's' sight. He moved forward along the roof, his cloak flapping madly behind him. Wayne Tower was now visible up ahead and the train was streaking dizzyingly through the tight canyons of Gotham. Ra's climbed up onto the roof at the front of the train. He stood tall before Gotham, his long coat blowing around his legs.

"You took my advice about theatricality a bit literally, don't you think?"

He drew his sword from his cane. Batman lunged towards him as he swung his sword, but Batman parried him with his gauntlet. The train was shooting through a building, the airflow hitting the two men heavily. Ra's swung his cane but Batman trapped it in the scallops on his gauntlet, twisting his arm and sending the cane spinning away.

"Familiar," Ra's remarked.

He thrusted his sword at Batman's chest but he dodged left, dangerously close to the edge of the roof. Batman ducked at Ra's but he kneed Batman sideways, swinging him to the front edge of the train. Batman regained his footing just as Ra's struck down on his head. Batman crossed his arms, catching the sword in the scallops of both of his gauntlets.

"Don't you have anything new?" Ra's taunted.

"How about this?"

Batman yanked his arms in opposite directions, breaking Ra's' sword clean in two. Ra's stumbled back, losing his footing. He slipped onto the roof and slid back towards the rear of the train. Batman leant over the front of the train, firing his grappling gun into the front guide wheels, causing them to jam, sparking and grinding. Cable began to spool out of the grappling gun and the train shuddered.

"What are you doing?!" cried Ra's as he climbed to his feet.

Batman threw the grappling gun at one of the wheels that was sparking furiously.

"What's necessary."

The grappling gun hit the wheel, bumping it off its track. Ra's dived onto Batman, smashing him against the roof as the train began to lurch, scraping against the concrete guiderails. Batman rolled Ra's beneath him but Ra's was choking him, his thumbs pushed deep into the flesh above Batman's neckpiece. He struggled uselessly against Ra's' iron grip.

"Are you afraid?" Ra's asked, looking up into Batman's dying eyes. His hands stopped pushing against Ra's' own.

"Yes," he choked. "But not of you."

His cloak went rigid, catching the wind and yanked him from Ra's' hands, up into the air. He could just make out Ra's' screams as he rode the train off the monorail, crashing down into Wayne Plaza, digging through the concrete, shattering marble, sending dust clouds flying and causing parked cars to explode. The train had disintegrated into burning rubble just short of the entrance to Wayne Station. Batman had saved Gotham.

* * *

Tamara pulled her Camaro out of the driveway of what was once Wayne Manor. Despite the time of year, the sun was shining, warm enough for Tamara to not a need a jacket and bright enough for her to need to wear sunglasses.

She turned to her brother who was sat next to her in the passenger seat and smiled sadly.

"I still can't believe it's gone," she said, shaking her head. She dared one last glance of the still faintly-smoking rubble before she turned a corner, obscuring their old family home from their vision. "I've lived there all my life. Twenty one years. Gone."

Bruce reached a hand out to pat her leg comfortingly. "I'm sorry, Tamara. It's my fault."  
She shook her head. "No, Bruce. You did what you had to do. You didn't know he was going to burn down our home. I just wish I'd had a chance to say a proper goodbye. I left it in a hurry with no idea that I'd never see the place I grew up in ever again."

Bruce was silent for a few moments. "Did you get a chance to say a proper goodbye to Jonathan?"

Tamara sighed, gripping onto the wheel a bit tighter. "I tried to," she shrugged, trying to sound casual. "Shooting him wasn't quite how I'd planned it, though."

"Go and find him, Tammy."  
She shot her brother a quick look. "Are you serious? I have no idea where he could be Bruce. I have no idea what I'd say."

"You have his cell phone number, don't you?"

"Yeah, so?"

Bruce shrugged his shoulders slightly. "It's worth a try, is all I'm saying."

* * *

At Wayne Plaza, construction crews were attempting to clear the rubble and wreckage the train had left behind. Lucius was supervising, but it wasn't hard for him to spot Earle making his way towards him, clearly livid.

"This is a hard hat area," Fox informed him, gesturing to his own hat.

"What are you doing here, Fox?" Earle spat. "I seem to remember firing you."

"Might be something to do with my new job as head of Wayne Industries," Lucius smiled. "Didn't you get the memo?"

Earle stared hard at Fox.

"Whose authority?"

Lucius pointed at Tamara's Camaro, idling nearby. Earle strode towards it, leaving Fox to his work, smiling to himself. Earle furiously began to bang on the passenger window of the car until Bruce finally rolled it down.

"You think you have authority to decide who runs this company, Bruce?"

"It is _my _company," Bruce pointed out.

"Not anymore. Wayne Industries went public a week ago."

"And I bought most of the shares," Bruce interrupted. "A controlling interest, in fact. Through various charitable foundations, trusts and so forth."

Tamara flashed Earle a smile to further infuriate him. "Hi, Mr Earle," she waved enthusiastically. Earle chose to ignore her, still staring angrily at Bruce.

"Look, it's all a bit technical," he continued. "But the important thing is, _my _company's future is secure."

Earle was speechless. Bruce smiled, and with that him and Tamara pulled away, high fiving each other like teenagers, laughing like they'd just heard the funniest joke in the world. The siblings might have lost a lot: their parents, their home, and for Tamara, her love. But they still had each other, and on that morning, it seemed that as long as they had each other, then everything would be okay.

**Author's note: **I'm aware that this chapter was quite short and mainly action-based so apologies for that. Also, only one more chapter after this. So sad that it's almost finished but I intend for there to be a sequel. Please review!


	18. Goodbye, My Princess Of Gotham

**Author's note: **Sorry this took me so long, I was kind of having an issue where I just didn't want to finish it because that would mean letting go of a story that I've been working on, on and off, since last summer! Now that I've finally finished it I'm so proud of it though. This is the longest story I've ever completed. Hope you enjoyed it.

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but my OC.

**_Epilogue_**

**_Goodbye, My Princess Of Gotham_**

* * *

_What a shame we all remain __**such fragile, broken things**__._

_A __**beauty half betrayed**__, butterflies with punctured wings._

_Still there are __**darkened places deep in my heart**__._

_Where once was __**blazing light**__, now there's a __**tiny spark**__._

_Oh glory, __**come and find me**__._

_Dancing all alone to the sound of __**an enemy's song**__._

_I'll be __**lost until you find me**__._

**_Fighting on my own_**_ in a war that's already been won._

_I'll be lost until you __**come and find me here**__, oh glory._

_What __**a mess**__, what __**a mystery**__ we've made of love and other simple things._

_Learning to forgive even when __**it wasn't our mistake**__._

**_I question every human_**_ who won't look in my eyes._

**_Scars left on my heart_**_ formed patterns in my mind._

_Oh glory, __**you will find me**__._

**_Like the moon we borrow our light_**_._

_I am nothing but a __**shadow in the night**__._

_So __**if you love me**__, I will catch fire to __**let your glory and mercy shine**__._

**_Paramore_**

**_Part II_**

* * *

Tamara Wayne was being followed. She did not know this for definite, but she had her suspicions. Everywhere she went, she felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck and got the uneasy sensation that she was being watched. But whenever she turned around to check, she couldn't see anyone. Not even the hint of a shadow darting to hide around a corner. After about a week of this, it had gotten to the stage where Tamara was beginning to feel nervous about going out. She didn't want to go out without Bruce but he was spending a lot of time down at the Manor and sometimes going out was unavoidable. She'd also been avoiding calling Jonathan ever since she'd spoken to Bruce about it. Although the idea appealed to her in some ways, she was just too scared. The last time she'd seen him, she'd shot him. Maybe if she called and Jonathan picked up he would be understanding, but what if Scarecrow picked up instead?

Tamara was beginning to grow frustrated with herself. So fucking what if she was being followed? It didn't have to mean anything ominous, it could just be a nervous fan too shy to ask for an autograph. And besides, she didn't _know _that was being followed. Perhaps the events of the past few weeks had just left her paranoid. Perhaps it was time that she saw a psychologist herself. She finally worked up the courage to make a small shopping trip by herself, before stopping by the Manor to see her brother. She highly considered disguising herself, covering her face with large sunglasses and dressing in her ugliest clothes but she decided against it. Instead, she chose one of her prettiest new dresses (which was admittedly inappropriate for the wintery time of year) and covered herself up with a smart Burberry coat and colourful scarf so that she didn't catch a chill. She didn't want to become a recluse. She hadn't even been to her usual bar that week, afraid that her 'stalker' might have caught her unaware when she was woozy from alcohol.

She calmly drove herself to Gotham's main fashion district, which was a wealthy part of the city and where she felt perfectly safe parking her car. She intended her first stop to be Killinger's, the department store, where she could perhaps treat herself to a new perfume or some shoes. Tamara felt surprisingly safe the second she stepped out of the car. Seeing her favourite shops – their windows shimmering in the mid-morning sunshine, the ground covered in a light dusting of snow – was familiar and eased the impending sense of doom that she'd felt on her journey. The journey from where she parked her car to the department store was one of those journeys that you know so well that you could walk it with your eyes closed. Every building, every tree, every curve in the road is like a line on the palm of your hand. If anything was out of place, you would know immediately. That day, nothing was out of place. Tamara window-shopped in her favourite little dress boutique. She said hello to an elderly man she passed walking his pug. She stopped to take a photograph with a young teenage girl. Everything was so delightfully ordinary. Tamara turned down a narrow alleyway, the quickest shortcut to the department store. The alleyway was usually surprisingly busy as many people used it as a shortcut to get to Gotham Square, and it also contained a few small cafés and restaurants whose tables spilled outside. That morning, the alleyway was deserted. And for the first time since stepping out of her car, Tamara felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She tried to ignore the feeling, told herself that it was just quiet because she was out earlier than she usually was. She continued to walk, and she'd just passed a quaint little Italian café whose cappuccinos were to _die _for, when she felt two firm hands grip her upper arms and slam her against a brick wall, winding her before she had a chance to scream. Her arms were trapped behind her back and her body was trapped between the wall and the body of the person who'd grabbed her.

"Hello, sweetheart," a voice whispered in her ear, the warm breath against her cold ear sending shivers down her spine. The familiarity of the voice made Tamara's knees go weak, and the hands had to grip onto her tighter to stop her from falling down.

"No, no, no," she whimpered. "Please Jonathan, don't do this."

He turned her around, freeing her arms but still trapping her against the wall with his own body. Jonathan looked…surprisingly normal. He was wearing the same suit and tie he'd been wearing the day Tamara met him. She wondered if that was on purpose.

"I'm not doing anything," he smiled. "But can you promise me that if I let you go, you won't run off? My poor arm's aching something dreadful having to hold onto you like this. I got a bit of a nasty bullet wound the other day you see…"  
Tamara sighed. "Jonathan, I'm sorry-"

He cut her off. "Promise me you won't run off."

"I promise."

Jonathan released her from his iron grip. He was still stood a little too close to her for comfort, but at least Tamara felt less threatened.

"I'm sorry for shooting you," she whispered, looking down at her feet.

He placed his fingers under her chin, tipping her head up so she was looking him in his eyes.

"Don't apologise," he told her. "You did what you had to do."

"Jonathan, you shouldn't be here," Tamara said desperately. "If someone sees you-"

"If someone sees me then I'm in trouble," he laughed, although Tamara did not see the humour in it. "So I'm just going to have to count on no one noticing me. You won't tell, will you?"  
Tamara shook her head. This whole situation was just too weird for her to take in. "Jonathan, I was going to call you," she attempted to explain.

"And say what? 'I'm sorry I almost blasted your arm off?' 'I hope you're having fun hiding out from GPD?'"

She shrugged. "That's why I didn't call. I didn't know what to say."

"Is that the only reason?" Goddamn, the man knew her so well.

"I was scared Scarecrow might have answered," she whispered.

She flinched slightly as his hand brushed against her cheek gently. "I'm sorry for scaring you," he murmured. "I'm trying hard to control him. To not let him out so easily."

Tamara felt a sudden surge of anger. "Is that all you're sorry for, Jonathan? How about sorry for lying to me all along? For endangering me? For having your men drag me back to your house and tie me up? For using your fear toxin on me? For nearly trampling me and Rachel? For ruining my reputation? Or maybe for creating a fear toxin that you thought would hold Gotham hostage and instead almost destroyed the entire city? What is it you're sorry for?"

He sighed. "All of that. But Tamara, I only lied to protect you. I never meant to drag you into any of this mess but as soon as I saw you I had to have you."

She rolled her eyes. "Romantic."

"Just listen to me. Tamara, you are the most beautiful, intelligent, fascinating, kind, sexy, wonderful woman I have ever met. I didn't want you to be a part of this madness but I was falling in love with you, and either way, you would've only ended up involved what with your brother's position in all of this. I tried to protect you as best as I possibly could, even if I knew that might have meant hurting you in the future. I know I have problems Tamara and I'm sorry you ever had to meet Scarecrow. I tried as hard as I could to keep him away from you." He paused for a long moment. "I don't know what else to say." He laughed, but the laugh sounded forced. "I never was good with words."

Tamara sighed, trying to hold back tears. "I love you Jonathan," she whispered shakily.

"But…?"

"There isn't a but. You and I both know that we can't be together."

Jonathan nodded sadly. "I know. This was just my way of saying goodbye. A proper goodbye."

"How did you find me?"

"I know you, Tamara. I know where you like to go and what you like to do. You're not hard to find."

The pieces of the puzzle finally fit together for Tamara and she realised that she hadn't been imagining the feeling of being followed for the past few days. "You've been following me, haven't you?"  
He nodded. "I was waiting for the right moment. This is the first time it's felt right."

"So you thought throwing me against a wall was the right thing to do?"

He looked down at his feet bashfully. "I wasn't sure if you wanted to see me or not. I was worried you might run or call the cops if I just tried to talk to you."

Tamara shook her head. "No, Jonathan. I wanted this goodbye just as much as you did."

"So this is it, then?"

"I guess so."

He bowed his head down so that it was level with Tamara's. "Goodbye, my princess of Gotham," he murmured, his breath warm against Tamara's cold lips. He pressed his lips against her own, and the two of them merged into one. Tamara knew this would be the last kiss she'd ever share with the man who'd stolen her heart. She took in every detail, how soft his lips were, their surprising warmth, the way his tongue darted against her own, how tightly his hands gripped her hips, the faint smell of aftershave, the way he occasionally nipped her bottom lip with his teeth. She'd never been kissed like that. It was a kiss that she never wanted to end.

But of course, it had to. Tamara sighed, feeling a sense of loss as Jonathan's lips separated from her own. She rested against the wall behind her, her eyes still closed, breathing heavily. When she finally opened her eyes again, Jonathan was gone.

* * *

Tamara pulled into the driveway of what was left of Wayne Manor, where the workers sifting through smoking ruins were being closely supervised by Alfred. Despite the intense goodbye she had just experienced, Tamara felt surprisingly happy. It was like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. She had always known that she would have to get over Jonathan, but attempting to do so when their final encounter had been so flawed was near impossible. Now that they'd had a real goodbye, a proper goodbye, an almost perfect goodbye, however, Tamara knew that she would be able to move on with her life.

Tamara stepped out of her car and made her way to the old greenhouse, where she could see a silhouette moving inside. Rachel Dawes was picking her way through the smoking remnants of the greenhouse, soot-stained glass crunching underfoot.

"Rachel?"

Rachel looked up at the sound of Tamara's voice.

"I was looking for Bruce," she explained quietly.

"And you thought you'd find him in here?" Rachel looked at her sadly. "Come on," Tamara said, holding her hand out.

She led Rachel to the well that Tamara and Bruce had climbed down the day after Bruce's return. Bruce was hammering a board across it but he looked up upon hearing the footsteps of the two girls. He smiled briefly before turning back to the well.

"Do you remember the day I fell?" he asked. Tamara assumed this question was aimed at Rachel as Tamara had only been a baby at the time of his fall.

"Of course," she replied.

Bruce looked down the deep black pit that was still left to be covered.

"As I lay there, I knew, I could sense it," Bruce said, stumbling over his words.

"What?"

"That things would never be the same."

Tamara stepped closer to Bruce, resting her hand on his shoulder.

"What did you find down there?" Rachel asked.

"Childhood's end."

He placed another board over the gap. The well was closed.

* * *

It wasn't hard for Tamara to see that Bruce and Rachel wanted some privacy. She went to find Alfred, leaving Bruce to walk Rachel through the gardens, past the ruins of their old home.

"The day you left Gotham, the day Chill was murdered, I said some terrible things," Rachel said apologetically.

"True things," Bruce corrected her. "You made me see that justice is about more than my own pain and anger."

"Well, you proved me wrong."  
"About what?"

"Your father would be proud of you. Just as I am."

Bruce looked at her for a split second before taking her in his arms and kissing her both passionately and desperately. As they broke apart, he looked hopefully into Rachel's eyes, but she shook her head gently.

"Between Batman and Bruce Wayne, there's no room for me," she said softly.

"Rachel, this life I chose…I can give it up."

Rachel reached up to his face, taking it carefully into her hand as though he was fragile and would shatter under too much pressure.

"You didn't choose the life, Bruce. It was thrust upon you, the way greatness often is. You've given this city hope – now she's depending on you. We all are." Bruce looked at her, taking in her beauty, her perfection, his heart physically aching – but he nodded, knowing that she was right. "Goodbye, Bruce."

She began to walk away, then stopped and turned to point at the remains of Wayne Manor.

"What will you do?" she asked.

The hurt in Bruce's eyes shifted to a look of glorious purpose.

"I'm going to rebuild it just the way it was. Brick for brick."

Rachel nodded, finally walking away for good. Bruce watched her leave, feeling more alone than he did when he first left Gotham. But he wasn't alone – Tamara was at his shoulder, there for him just like a sister should be.

"Just the way it was, huh?"

Bruce finally stopped watching Rachel and turned to his little sister. "Yes, why?"

"Alfred and I had been discussing that we should maybe take the opportunity of making some improvements to the foundation."

"In the south east corner?"

"Precisely."

* * *

An irregular shadow of a bat symbol was cast up onto turbulent clouds, the shadow caused by an upturned spotlight with a metal stencil bolted to it, sat atop the police station roof. Gordon stood beside it, drinking coffee from a Styrofoam cup in a futile attempt to warm himself against the absolutely bitter winter night air. He tore his eyes away from the eerie shadow in the clouds upon hearing a dark fluttering noise, and saw Batman stood across from him, on the other side of the spotlight. He reached out and tapped the stencil.

"Nice," he commented, his voice sounding gravelly as ever.

Gordon crushed his empty cup in his fist. "Couldn't find any mob bosses to strap to the light," he joked. He killed the spotlight, leaving the two men stood facing each other in the dark, the only light coming from the streets below and the surrounding buildings.

"Well, Sergeant?"

"It's _Lieutenant_, now," Gordon corrected him. "Commissioner Loeb had to promote me. And he had to disband the task force hunting for you. Amazing what saving a city can do for your image."

"Then things are better," Batman said.

Gordon nodded. "You've started something – bent cops running scared, hope on the streets…" He left his sentence hanging between them.

"But?"

"But there's a lot of weirdness out there right now. The Narrows is lost. We still haven't picked up Crane or half the inmates of Arkham that he freed."

"We will. Gotham will return to normal."

"Will it? What about escalation?"

"Escalation?"

"We start carrying semiautomatics, they buy automatics. We start wearing Kevlar, they buy armour-piercing rounds."

Batman sensed he wasn't finished. "And?"

Gordon leaned closer to Batman and pointed at him. "And you're wearing a mask and jumping off rooftops." He fished around in his jacket pocket. "Take this guy." He pulled out a clear plastic evidence bag. "Armed robbery, double homicide." Inside the bag was a playing card. "Got a taste for theatrics, like you." He handed Batman the bag. "Leaves a calling card."

Batman turned the card over – it was a joker card.

"I'll look into it."

He stepped up onto the balustrade.

"I never said thank you," Gordon said sincerely.

Batman looked out at the lights of Gotham, his cloak billowing around him. He made quite the iconic figure.

"And you'll never have to."

He dropped from the rooftop, gliding on the night wind. He knew Gordon would be smiling. He was smiling too. This was just the beginning.

**Author's note: **Look out for the sequel. Thanks for reviewing. X


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